


One Thousand Lonely Stars

by insertnerdyjokehere



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Discorporation (Good Omens), Enemies to Friends to Lovers to Friends to Enemies, Historical References, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Memory Loss, Pompeii, The Blitz, flowers as a metaphor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:28:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22304950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insertnerdyjokehere/pseuds/insertnerdyjokehere
Summary: Heaven finally finds the perfect punishment for Aziraphale: to rip every shard of Crowley from his mind. Each meeting, each conversation, each glance they shared--erased. As each memory is lost to him, Aziraphale loses a part of himself, loses moments that formed his very nature. At the beginning, it was Crowley who showed him that there is more to creation than good and bad. That it’s more complicated than black and white. With that forgotten, Aziraphale becomes exactly what Heaven wanted him to be in the first place: unattached, blind with loyalty, unquestioning. The perfect soldier. And, as if the last 6000 years had never happened, Crowley becomes the enemy.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 149
Collections: Good Omens Big Bang 2019





	One Thousand Lonely Stars

**Author's Note:**

> My fic for Good Omens Big Bang 2019!
> 
> A forever thanks to my beta Seterasilence for putting up with me. 
> 
> AND
> 
> A big thanks to aw_writing_no for doing art for this fic!  
> Which you can find here:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/22307119

_I didn’t want to be the one to forget_

_I thought of everything I'd never regret_

_A little time with you is all that I get_

_That’s all we need because it’s all we can take_

* * *

The ding of the cash register rang through the bookshop as Aziraphale closed the till. He smiled politely at the customer gathering her purchase in her arms: some old book that she’d stared at with reverence, like it was a treasure lost to time. Aziraphale always found it so charming how the humans seemed to delight in such trivial things. Something as simple as ink on a page could provide them with hours of enjoyment. It was an efficient way to spread good will, no miracle needed. Hopefully, the book would inspire the young lady to pursue the arts herself or at least occupy her long enough to keep her out of trouble, temptations were ever present these days. Aziraphale smiled, inordinately pleased with himself. 

Seeing the glazed look in his eyes, the customer clutched the book to her chest and hurried out, as if worried that the shop keeper would come to his senses and realize that the book price must have had a misplaced decimal. In her rush, she practically shoulder checked a man strolling into the shop. The force caused the book to go flying from her hands, but in a flash the man miraculously caught it before it hit the ground. From behind stylish sunglasses, he turned his head from the book to the girl and then back again before he almost cautiously handed it to her. She offered a quick thanks blended with an apology and then continued out the door and into the busy streets of Soho. 

The man’s gaze followed her as he straightened his clothes despite any sign of wrinkles. Standing there at the front of the store, he seemed lost in thought, brows furrowed in confusion as if he had never been in a used bookstore before.

Aziraphale walked around the counter and to the middle of the shop before he cleared his throat to get the man’s attention, “Welcome to A.Z. Fell books! Is there anything I can help yo-”

The sound of Aziraphale’s voice startled the customer out of his thoughts. He suddenly gestured widely at nothing in particular. “Was that a _signed copy_ of Wilde you just sold? You wouldn’t talk to me for a decade after I _sneezed_ near one of those. And you call me…” He searched for a word and couldn’t find it, “change-y mind-y!” Giving one final glance out the window, he turned around. “Anyways, are you ready to head out?”

Taken aback by the man’s sudden outburst, it was Aziraphale’s turn to be confused, “Excuse me? I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong shop.” The man was dressed stylishly in all black and had shoulder length red hair, the kind of flash bastard one would remember but Aziraphale had never seen him before.

The stranger walked further into the shop, waving a hand, “Ha ha, very funny. You’ve got me fooled, now let’s get a wiggle on, we’ve reservations at the Ritz and I find it tedious to miracle a new one if we miss it.” 

The air shifted and a slight smell of sulfur reached Aziraphale. His eyes widened and took a step back. “A _demon!_ What business do you have coming into my shop?”

He took a step forward, the amused look fading, “Angel, come on. That joke hasn’t been funny for at least 2,000 years.” 

“Demon, if you do not leave this shop at once I will be forced to remove you myself.” The lights flickered as Aziraphale straightened to his full height and any trace of his pleasant shopkeeper demeanor vanished.

The demon stopped and lifted his sunglasses to see better, revealing a pair of yellow snake eyes. The eyes roamed over Aziraphale’s face, searching for something that was not there: kindness, recognition, familiarity. The demon appeared worried. “Aziraphale, what’s happened? We’re friends! _You know me.”_

But Aziraphale _didn’t_ know who this demon was. Didn’t recognize the fire-red hair or golden eyes. He wouldn’t recognize any demon, wouldn’t care to differentiate them from one another. All demons were the same: agents of Hell meant to tempt the innocent and damn their souls. This was obviously a trick, a way to lower Aziraphale’s guard before an attack, but it was a trick that he saw through right away. He was an angel, the idea that he would consider being friends with a demon was ridiculous to the point of being offensive. He was put on Earth to stop demons, to put an end to their tempting and spreading of sin. 

The lights in the shop grew brighter and the bulbs began to buzz as power surged through them. Aziraphale’s anger grew, making the building tremble and the books shake on their shelves. “I will ask you one more time, fiend, leave this shop or I will send you back to Hell myself!” His wings sprang out, filling the room with a divine light that made the demon shield his eyes. 

The demon fell back onto his rear and scrambled backwards, towards the door, “What did they do to you? Aziraphale it’s me. It’s Cro-”

 _“LEAVE!_ _”_ Every light bulb in the room blew out and the room was only illuminated by the angel’s wings. 

The demon turned over and crawled on hands and knees to the front door, slipping on the shards of glass that now littered the floor. He managed to get to his feet and looked back at Aziraphale for a moment, a mix of emotions on his face that Aziraphale didn’t care enough to read, before turning and walking out the door. 

Even after the demon was out of sight, Aziraphale stood unmoving in the middle of the shop. He didn’t need to breathe and yet it took him several moments to slow his breath and heartbeat. The shop went dark as Aziraphale sent his wings back to the ethereal plane. He squeezed his eyes shut as his head began to throb. It was a persistent pain and he raised a had to rub at his temples. After a few moments the pain lessened.

He brought the hand at his temple down with a snap. When he opened his eyes, the lights were on and it was as if nothing had happened. Aziraphale sighed and did his best to push the incident out of his mind and forget about the demon.

* * *

“I don’t give a _damn_ if it’s an ‘official summons,’” Crowley shouted as he waved the offending piece of paper in Aziraphale’s face. “This is a trap and you know it. Once you get there they’re gonna pull another stunt like the hellfire and _destroy_ you.”

Aziraphale tired to grab Crowley’s flailing arm but missed, and had the audacity to look annoyed, “Crowley, I don’t have a choice.” He made another half-hearted attempt at the letter that they had found waiting for them after what had been a pleasant evening at the Ritz. _Aziraphale, buddy! Stop on by when you get a moment. We need to catch up!_ Had been scrawled in Gabriel’s clunky script. Aziraphale had been offended by the overuse of exclamation marks. 

Unable to still Crowley’s hand, he continued, almost desperately, “If I don’t go, then they’ll come for me and that would put you in danger.” 

“Swap me bodies. I’ll go instead.” Like a switch Crowley switched tactics and started moving towards Aziraphale, hand outstretched now, giving Aziraphale what he wanted, his intention clear. 

Aziraphale leapt back as Crowley stepped forward, a reverse of their actions moments ago, like a dance that both of them would have been terrible at. He clutched his own hands to his chest as if Crowley’s touch would burn. “Whatever they have planned for me will be worse than hellfire I’m sure. It’ll harm you just as much as it will harm me.”

“They’ll kill you.” Crowley took another step forward, his voice fraying at the edge like a thread on a sweater that was already half undone.  
  
“Then I’ll die knowing I kept you safe!” The words rang through the air like a church bell and everything stilled as the sound reverberated through the room. 

Crowley stood motionless and for a moment Aziraphale thought Crowley wouldn’t push back, would just accept what had to happen, but then he had to open his mouth, “What- what if we ran away. Alpha Centauri is still there, we can go and we’ll be far away-” Still turned towards Aziraphale, he made a move towards the front door, another step in the dance.

Aziraphale had to close his eyes to hold back the wave of sorrow crashing over him, “You know we can’t do that.” He opened his eyes, but couldn’t look at Crowley, couldn’t let the pleading furrow of his eyebrows sway him in his decision. “They’ll find us eventually, especially now that they don’t have a war to distract them. This is the only way.” Aziraphale steeled himself with a sharp intake of breath. “I’m so sorry, my dear.” 

Ignoring Crowley’s sound of protest, Aziraphale brought his hand up and snapped. The energy in the room shifted and pulled in ways imperceptible to a human but Crowley felt it. Felt the energy drain from his body. The ground no longer a solid surface to rely on. From behind darkened lenses his yellow eyes widened with betrayal before they began to droop. Sleep pulled at him, but he fought against it. He had powers of his own that could wake him up in an instant, but unfortunately Aziraphale had got the jump on him. 

He staggered away, ignoring Aziraphale’s mumbled apologies as the angel reached toward him. Crowley tried to snap his own fingers but found they no longer had the dexterity to do so. Each attempt became more sluggish until his hands simply wouldn’t move. He looked at Aziraphale. “Angel, don’t do thisss, pleassse,” The words slurred and he pitched forward, but Aziraphale easily caught him, one hand around his waist the other cradling his slack head. Crowley blinked up at Aziraphale, eyes dazed and unfocused, lids becoming heavier with each blink. 

Crowley tried to mumble something but was unable to find his voice. Aziraphale pressed their lips together and felt Crowley surge up, using the last of his energy to kiss back. 

Aziraphale pulled away and watched as Crowley’s eyes slid shut and stayed that way. “Sleep, and dream of whatever you like best.” All the tension eased from Crowley and he slumped into Aziraphale’s arms, completely asleep. 

He lowered the unconscious demon onto the sofa, gently laying his head down.

 _“Aziraphale_ _.”_ Crowley’s face relaxed as he fell deeper into sleep. 

With a woeful smile, Aziraphale placed a kiss on Crowley’s forehead. He let his lips linger and poured ever ounce of love he could into it, all the warmth and affection he could never put into words. His hands trembled as they came up to clutch Crowley’s face, eyes closed as he tried in vain to hold back the tears that demanded to fall. He tasted their salt as he desperately pushed his lips harder into Crowley’s hairline until he couldn’t hold back the sobs shaking his body. He turned his head and pressed his cheek to Crowley’s forehead, letting the tears flow freely and gasping for breath, glad that Crowley couldn’t see him in this state. Glad that this wouldn’t be the last memory of him, made sure that Crowley wouldn’t even remember the summons, just one last night out at the Ritz. It was for the best. 

The streaks of tears were gone from his face with a thought. He stood up and looked over Crowley, soft smile still on his lips as he muttered words in his sleep. Aziraphale wondered if this would be the last time he would ever see Crowley. 

In a way, it was.

* * *

Heaven was just the way Aziraphale remembered it, not that he expected it to change in the last few months since he had visited. It was just as empty. Still devoid of all color. Cold and unwelcoming, at least to him. The only sound was the echo of his footsteps as he made his way to the empty auditorium. It was an endless room, only appearing to have dimensions, but in reality it stretched across all of creation. The curved glass ceiling was only there for show, an optical illusion to make the space comprehensible. 

He was met by the archangel Gabriel, standing alone, not even Michael or one of his goons beside him. Heaven didn’t care for an audience when dealing out punishment for their own. Always worried it might create a martyr and inspire some sort of revolt, and they’d have another civil war on their hands. 

The archangel’s bravado filled the room. “Aziraphale! So nice of you to stop by.” 

It wasn’t nice at all. It was terrible and Aziraphale had half a mind to say as much. 

Instead, Aziraphale matched Gabriel’s tight smile and responded cooly, “Pleasure. Now, might I ask what exactly I am stopping by for?” He could wager a guess, but gambling wasn’t the sort of thing angels participated in.

Either not seeing or not caring about the sarcasm, Gabriel’s face brightened at the question. “You may!” He began to casually pace as if he were giving a lecture. “Now, up here we’ve been going back and forth about what to do with you for awhile now. You defied _Heaven_ , we can’t just have you walking around all willy-nilly, it might give others ideas. If hellfire won’t kill you it’s been decided that a more severe punishment is in order.” His smile was still bright even as the sky outside seemed to darken with his words. Gabriel always had a flare for the dramatics. 

Aziraphale straightened his posture and raised his head defiantly, a confident smile on his lips, “You don’t have the power to make me Fall. That’s up to Her.” Conviction threaded its way into his voice, “Loving Crowley isn’t wrong otherwise She would have done something a long time ago.” He finished with a flourish, but then Gabriel stopped his pacing and stared at him until Aziraphale’s smile faltered.

“Who said anything about Falling?” He took a step forward. “What we have in store for you goes far beyond something as final as _death_. We’re not punishing you for loving a demon, or for not believing in God, we’re punishing you for going against heaven, which is a different jurisdiction. My jurisdiction.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Gabriel’s wings flared out. Aziraphale didn’t have time to think before Gabriel propelled himself forward with a stroke of his wings and landed a swift uppercut that sent Aziraphale flying across the room like a rag doll. He landed on his back. It took a few moments for him to register the ache in his jaw, the pain in his shoulders. He opened his mouth wide to make sure his jaw was still in place. After finding nothing broken, he pushed himself up onto his elbows.

“Gabriel, please. It was to save the world! To save the humans, one of God’s creations. I was only doing what I thought was best.” Seeing Gabriel’s steady approach, Aziraphale tried to get up. He managed to flip over onto his stomach, but he was shaking too badly to push himself up. Pulling himself away was his only option, but it wasn’t enough. 

Gabriel scoffed as he walked towards the fallen angel. “Is that all it takes? One hit and you’re already begging for your life? What happened to that confidence you had when you walked into hellfire?”

That confidence had been Crowley’s. Aziraphale had always been a nervous wreck when it came to Gabriel. There was a buzzing in his mind, not able to focus on one thing. He thought of what Crowley would do in this situation. Would he have been able to fight Gabriel? _Crowley. Oh Crowley, my dear. I’m so sorry._ He would never see him again, never hold him, kiss him. Tears gathered in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Refused to give Gabriel the satisfaction. 

The footsteps stopped and there was silence for a few moments. The room held its breath as Gabriel surveyed the angel at his feet, lip curling up in distaste. 

“That demon of yours has taken your strength from you.” He kicked his foot down onto Aziraphale’s back, forcing him back to the ground with a grunt. “Turned you into his little puppet.” 

Aziraphale seethed. Crowley had done nothing of the sort. In his mind he could hear Crowley laugh at the comment, saying how it was Aziraphale who was the manipulative bastard. God, he loved Crowley. Loved him so much it filled his chest to the point of bursting. He had to get out of this. Had to get back to him. There hadn’t been enough time to tell him all the ways he loved him. 

Gritting his teeth, Aziraphale tried to push up.

Gabriel watched for a moment, as if amused by his struggle before putting more weight onto his foot until Aziraphale cried out. Gabriel hummed in satisfaction at the sound. His voice dropped to a low rumble, “You always were a lousy angel, Aziraphale, but now you’re nothing. He’s _defiled_ you, made you _worthless_.”

Rage and wings flared out from Aziraphale and with a shout he used them as leverage, pushing himself into the air and sending Gabriel sprawling backwards. It had been awhile since he had used his wings for flight, but this was his natural state and he returned to it seamlessly, feathers catching the air as he pushed himself higher, and higher, toward the infinite ceiling.

A good eighty feet below on the ground, Gabriel got to his feet and shook out his wings as if only a minor inconvenienced. His hands smoothed down a hair that had the audacity to fall out of place. With a crack like lightning he was airborne and closed the distance between them, but this time Aziraphale was prepared and darted out of the way with a swiftness that would make a humming bird envious. 

The momentum sent Gabriel careening past his target, arms flailing, and Aziraphale saw his opening. His fists came together over his head before slamming down onto the archangel's back. Gabriel gasped and fell ten feet before turning mid-air and shooting back up like an arrow. Aziraphale narrowly avoided the attack, feeling him graze the tips of his feathers. Playing the defensive, he swooped down before spreading his wings and beating them as fast as he could.

Distance didn’t have meaning in this place, it only mattered that he was faster than Gabriel. He looked over his shoulder but Gabriel wasn’t there. Confusion clouded his eyes before he looked up just in time to see a fist before it collided with his face, Gabriel having taken the higher road and using it to his advantage. He landed another hit and Aziraphale’s wings went lax in his daze, and he fell into free fall, the ground growing closer at an incredible speed. Moments before impact he snapped back to attention and stretched his wings out as far as they could go, tensing every muscle as they caught the wind and pulled him into a glide with moments to spare. 

He pulled his legs under him and landed on his feet, the momentum making him stumble before stopping. Fury rippled through him as he glared up at Gabriel’s form, making another dive for him. Pushing himself off the ground with all his might, they collided in the air, Aziraphale’s fist making contact with Gabriel’s stomach. He pulled back and threw another punch, this time knocking Gabriel’s jaw back. His anger clouded his vision and he fought with passion and not finesse. On the next strike, Gabriel caught his fist and squeezed it until there was a crack. Aziraphale didn’t feel the pain as he screamed in rage and brought his other fist into Gabriel’s side. 

They entered a tailspin, both of them too focused on trading blows to pay any attention to their trajectory. 

Aziraphale tried to get up but the impact had pulled everything out of him, every breath, every ounce of fight that he had left. He collapsed as pain rang through his very core. On his second attempt hands gripped the lapels of his jacket and pulled him up into an incline. 

“You think that you can take me in a fight, _Principality?_ ” The violet of Gabriel’s eyes were electric and sparked with rage. _"_ It doesn’t matter how strong you are or how much power you have. You’re _soft!_ ” He punctuated the word with a blow to Aziraphale’s chest, grip on his jacket keeping him from falling back to the ground. Aziraphale went limp, too weak to even hold himself up. 

With a scoff, Gabriel dropped him back to the ground and straightened to his full height, wings tucked elegantly against his back. With a snap, his disheveled hair was back in place and his rumpled clothes smooth again. The shadow of a bruise lingered on his cheek.

A ringing filled the air, and then from nowhere Gabriel produced a glass pitcher filled with a black viscous liquid. 

“You have _no idea_ how hard it was to get my hands on this.” He paused and contemplated his words. “Well, actually it was as easy as asking the right people, I suppose. Hell’s pretty accommodating when you get down to it.” He chuckled. 

“So you’re allowed to conspire with demons, but I’m not?” Aziraphale said through gritted teeth.

“Yep! Pretty much,” Gabriel didn’t care to elaborate, and merely smiled down at him. “This,” he continued, waving the vessel around, “is from the River Lethe. I’m sure you’re familiar with it.“

Aziraphale’s sharp intake of breath was enough of an answer: of course he knew. 

“In case you _forgot_ let me remind you. Drinking from the Lethe erases a person’s memory. Completely. A blank slate! A fresh start! Useful for keeping order. Kept you from falling the first time, but then you had to meet on that _blessed_ wall.”

 _The first time?_ The words echoed in his head over and over. _The first time._

Something flickered in the back of Aziraphale’s mind, a blind spot that he couldn’t quite see. A missing piece that he never knew existed, that he had forgotten. Staring wide-eyed up at the ceiling, he reached through his thoughts, but it was always just out of his grasp. 

Gabriel took Aziraphale’s stunned silence as permission to continue. “Now, a hard reset on an angel would make you basically a puddle of goo. You might not even remember that you were an _angel!_ Luckily, we’ve figured out a way that’ll just get rid of any memories of that pesky demon of yours. Couple strands of hair, some incantation or another.” He gave a fake grimace. “To be honest I don’t actually know, I wasn’t really paying attention. Bottom line: it’ll cleanse you of him. Make you pure again.”

“No!” With a cry Aziraphale tried to get up, but in an instant Gabriel had a knee on his chest and knelt down, pressing out any air that he had left. Pinning him to the ground. 

“Aziraphale, please. This is for your own good.” His free hand came up to grip Aziraphale’s jaw. “You’ll be one of us again. Unquestioning. Dutiful. Isn’t that what you want?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest, but Gabriel took the opportunity to bring the lip of the vase to his lips, pouring the black liquid into Aziraphale’s mouth. He gagged and tried to spit it out, but it was heavy and slid down his throat like an oyster. The water flowed like a river and the current was too strong for Aziraphale to fight against. 

At first it tasted like nothing, had no texture or scent, but then it began to eclipse every sensation Aziraphale had ever had. Ash, it tasted like ash. It burned like ash too. It was rot, rot that grows under dead things and in caves and forgotten places. It became the only taste that Aziraphale could remember, like a bad taste in your mouth that made you forget that there ever was another taste. 

He fought against it, tried to pull away, but Gabriel’s grip only tightened, unwavering. 

The world around him began to fade. He was drowning, sinking further into the welcoming abyss. He squeezed his eyes shut and then there was nothing. 

* * *

Aziraphale woke with a gasp. He had only slept a few times in the last 6,000 years and couldn’t recall ever having a nightmare. It was disorienting; the images were so real, yet he already couldn’t remember them. There was a discomfort around his temple and a prickle of fear down his spine, but already the bad dream was fading, becoming nothing more than an unpleasant feeling at the back of his mind. He made a mental note to give out more miracles preventing nightmares in the future. Terrible things, nightmares.

Aziraphale shuddered and the arm around his waist tightened.

“Go back to sleep,” Crowley muttered, annoyed at having been woken.

The gloomy cloud vanished and Aziraphale smiled to himself. He shifted until he was facing Crowley, lifting a delicate hand to thumb over his cheek. “I’m not as well practiced as you.” 

Crowley opened one bleary eye before dipping his head to place a kiss under Aziraphale’s jaw. “Hmm, that’s too bad.” He hummed and Aziraphale chuckled at the sensation, making a less than half-hearted attempt to pull away. 

“Yes, positively dreadful. I doubt I’ll be able to fall back asleep.” He could feel Crowley smile against his neck. 

They were both smug about the whole situation. Waking up in bed together, tangled in sheets and each other. Crowley rolled over until he had a vantage point looking down at the angel. “Suppose we might as well make the best of a bad situation.” He leaned down to close the small distance between them. Lips met lips as they kissed again and again until the newness of the sensation slowly faded into familiarity. Thousands of years and missed opportunities vanishing with the press of lips. 

They spent a few lazy minutes stealing sly glances and soft touches in the early morning light. Eventually, Crowley rested his head on Aziraphale’s chest, listening to his heartbeat while Aziraphale played with the strands of the demon’s hellfire red hair at the nape of his neck. 

Despite his earlier words, Aziraphale began to doze, like a cat in a patch of sun, lazy in his contentment. He blinked himself awake and renewed his focus on stroking Crowley’s hair. He selfishly wondered if he could miracle the strands longer without notice so that there was more to twine around his fingers, loving the soft feeling on his hands, the way it would frame Crowley’s face. Pulling himself out of his daydream, Aziraphale decided to table the idea for later. There would be a later. For now, he just sighed and let himself sink further into the pillow. 

Crowley lifted his head up and looked at Aziraphale. “I was thinking…”

“Oh my dear, I _do_ hope you didn’t hurt yourself.”  
  
Crowley huffed and propped himself up onto his elbow, ignoring Aziraphale’s smirk. “I was _thinking_ that we should get out of London for awhile. Find a nice cottage on the beach. Doesn’t have to be a cottage. Doesn’t have to be on the beach either really.” He got lost in thought, stammering for a few moments before pressing on, “Whatever it is, just you and me. What do you say, angel?”

Something was wrong. They had already had this conversation. Aziraphale remembered it. Remembered the way Crowley’s eyes shone, and how the sheets felt against his skin. He had cataloged every detail of it, storing it away in the back of his mind so that he could think of it again and again. 

This was a dream. It had to be. The way Crowley reached out and stroked Aziraphale’s cheek, eyes growing worried as he waited for Aziraphale’s answer. It was a script. It had been done before. 

A sharp pain struck through his mind and Aziraphale cried out. Crowley didn’t notice, couldn’t notice, none of this was real, he was locked in the pattern that this moment had set weeks ago.

_Gabriel. Heaven. The fight._

As if a light switch had been hit, the details of the scene started to fade. He could no longer feel how soft the sheets had felt or taste the salt on Crowley’s skin as he pressed a reassuring kiss to his shoulder. What was Aziraphale reassuring him of? There was a question. He had asked a question. It was a question that he had asked many times before in different ways, but this time, Aziraphale’s answer would be different. _But what was the question?_

The question didn’t matter. It was a question that encompassed everything he was, everything they were together. He knew the answer. They were words he had waited decades to say, maybe longer. “Of course, my dear.”

Crowley smiled at him. A soft smile that Heaven or Hell would never be privy to; this was just for them. Aziraphale knew what was coming next, felt the moment build, Crowley nervous eyes searching Aziraphale. All the words that had passed between them this morning were fading like a fog had drifted over them, but Aziraphale didn’t want to lose these words. They were too important. 

He tried to pull away, as if that could stop the memory from happening. If he could break the course of events, then the Lethe couldn’t touch this, wouldn’t be able to take this from him, but a memory can’t be changed anymore than a daisy can become a tree. A weight settled over him that made escaping impossible. All he could manage was to shake his head, hold Crowley’s hand a little bit tighter. 

“Crowley, please don’t say it, if you say it then I’ll forget. Please my dear, my darling.”

Crowley didn’t notice any of his babbling or panic, only saw the way Aziraphale had been in that moment, still sleepy and bathed in the morning sunshine. He smiled and leaned in to press a kiss to Aziraphale’s lips and the world around them stopped. “I love you, angel.”

As soon as the words left Crowley’s mouth, they began to mute in Aziraphale’s memory. They grew softer and more distant. He clutched at Crowley’s face, who didn’t notice Aziraphale’s distress. Of course he knew Crowley loved him, had known it for centuries, but this moment, the moment when he had said it out loud for the first time was slipping, he couldn’t hear in his mind’s eye what his voice sounded like when wrapping around those words. He saw Crowley’s lips move, but there was no sound. Everything else began to fade, but Aziraphale kept his eyes locked onto Crowley’s lips, watching him silently mouth the words he would never hear again. 

He _knew_ Crowley loved him, even if he never heard him say it. 

* * *

“The Lovers. Bah! That’s preposterous. It’s not like- we weren’t- There was a lot of _ash_ which made it _difficult_ to _hear_ one another. The assumptions these humans make.” Crowley was drunk.

“But my dear, that’s what arch-ologists _do_.” Aziraphale was also drunk. “They exca- excer- they dig up stuff. Don’t see why you’re so embarrassed about it.”

“I’m not embarrassed! It’s just _weird._ Don’t you find it weird, being on display like that?”

Crowley muttered as he took another drink.

Aziraphale hummed noncommittally. “What’s got you thinking about Pompeii anyways?”

“Just thinking ‘bout the end of the world I suppose.” The demon trailed off, yellow eyes fixated on his wine glass.

“Don’t do that. That’s precisely why we’re drinking.” To prove his point, Aziraphale took a big swig of his drink. “Besides, that’s…years away!” 

“Less than a _decade_.”

Aziraphale waved a hand as if trying to stop Crowley’s words from reaching his ears. “We’ve been keeping an eye out on the Antichrist for the last five years. He’s…well he certainly _is.”_

“What he _is_ is old enough to need guidance. It’s time we started our demonic and angelic influence. Keep him balanced.” 

Aziraphale pouted. There was something he needed to remember. Something relevant, but he had forgotten what it was. 

Crowley leapt up from his position on the couch. “A nanny! He’ll need a nanny! That will be the easiest way to keep an eye on him and make sure he’s properly influenced.”

“Yes, but he’ll only need one nanny. What are you supposed to do?”

“Don’t be daft! I’m going to be the nanny. I came up with the idea. Get your own.”

“You? A nanny?” the angel replied incredulously. “That seems like more heavenly position, caring and nurturing and…er…whatnot.”

“Exactly!” Crowley began pacing the room, “You’d have an unfair advantage. Besides…” he said with a sniff, “I’d look better doing it anyways.”

Aziraphale scoffed into his wine glass. 

“I’ll prove it.”

At this he straightened to his full height and snapped his fingers. The air around him wavered and shifted his appearance, like air shimmering with heat on a hot summer’s day.

Now presenting as a woman, Crowley had gone for a dark wool skirt and jacket, hair perfectly curled under an elegant black hat. 

“Hello there.” Her voice was higher and distinctly Scottish. "I’m Ms. Ashtoreth.”

Aziraphale stood up. “Ashtoreth?” 

“Sounds like someone well versed in etiquette and extraordinarily nice while still being gunpowder, gelatine, dynamite with a laser beam,” She sounded like she thought she was being exceedingly clever, but Aziraphale obviously missed the joke.

Reference caught or not, the way Crowley looked was guaranteed to blow Aziraphale’s mind. A little awestruck at the way her hair was curled perfectly and still a bit drunk, he didn’t notice he was moving until her hand was already in his. He bent at the waist and placed a chaste kiss to the back of her hand. He looked up from his bow and they locked eyes. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Ashtoreth.”

Aziraphale heard her draw in a sharp breath and she looked lost for words. There was something she wanted to say, something Aziraphale wanted to hear her say, but then the moment passed. She retracted her hand and smoothed her skirt. 

“Hmm.” Crowley turned and examined herself in a mirror that Aziraphale could have sworn wasn’t there moments ago. “It’s missing something.” She gave a little spin.

“Oh! I have just the thing.” Aziraphale stumbled over to his desk. After a few moments of rummaging and a well placed miracle, he cried out in victory, “Ah! See, this is exactly what you need.” 

He spun around and in his hands was a strip of dark red fabric. Crowley made a sound of protest but Aziraphale had already crossed the room and thrown the ribbon around her neck. His brows were furrowed in concentration as his drunken fingers tried to tie it into a bow and failed miserably. 

Crowley bought her hands up to still the angel’s, and Aziraphale startled at the contact. He brought his attention to Crowley’s face and something in the moment seemed to sober them both up. 

“The perfume’s a nice touch,” Aziraphale mumbled. 

Crowley flushed and Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice how flattering the color was on her cheeks. “Came naturally from Paris,” she said under her breath.

The perfume was warm and earthy, floral mixed with spices and yet not overly sweet. A distinct hint of orange blossom. Aziraphale tried not to look too far into that. Flower language had gotten him into trouble more often than not and it was just a perfume after all. Best not to make assumptions, just let flowers be flowers. 

Of course, it didn’t matter what Crowley smelled like, or looked like, or even sounded like. It never had to Aziraphale. There was a deeper sense of Crowley that Aziraphale recognized, that went beyond any human sensation. A familiarity of soul. Despite all of the obstacles set against them, their spirits were cut from the same cloth and they demanded to be sewn back together no matter how many times the universe tore them apart, no matter how much Aziraphale hesitated or pulled away when frightened of his own feelings. 

The hands around his wrists squeezed gently, and with a start, Aziraphale realized he had been silent for quite some time. Crowley’s jaw ticked as if she wanted to say something but thought better of it. 

_You go too fast for me, Crowley,_ echoed through Aziraphale’s mind and fractured his heart. The end of the world was fast approaching, but still Aziraphale couldn’t move. Couldn’t give Crowley more than this quiet moment. Crowley rubbed her thumb against his skin and Aziraphale felt her response: _This is enough._

The weight of the moment broke and he slid his hands free, savoring the slide of skin against skin, a stolen touch. The ribbon still lay draped around Crowley neck and Aziraphale focused back on the task at hand and pointedly not on the skin under Crowley’s jawline. Despite his sobriety, his fingers were still clumsy, shaking with nerves. They eventually found themselves competent enough to fashion a smart-looking bow which he straightened the same way he often did his own. Satisfied, he took a step back, folding his hands against his stomach as if he could hold her touch there. 

He beamed at her. “You look radiant, my dear.”

Crowley pulled a pair of sunglasses out of her pocket and put them on, covering the yellow of her eyes but not the red on her cheeks. “Shut up! What about you? What’s your grand plan?”

“Well if you’re going to be the nanny, perhaps I could be a butler or maybe the chef or-” he gasped, “What about a gardener? What better way to teach the child to respect all living things than by being a person who grows things!”

“A gardener. _A gardener?”_ Her soft voice became a bit shrill with indignation. “Angel, you have killed every plant I’ve ever gotten you. Even cacti wilt under your care.” 

“That’s simply not true. I kept that primrose alive for well over three decades!”

Crowley’s face softened for a moment before she waved a dismissive hand. “That was only through divine intervention.”

“No it wasn’t!” 

It was, but Aziraphale wasn’t going to admit it. Despite not having a knack for keeping flowers alive like Crowley did, Aziraphale had always loved greenery. 

He pretended to be indignant for a moment longer before his face brightened into a smile. “Besides, I already have the perfect costume!” 

Crowley rolled her eyes but it was too late, Aziraphale had already bounced over to the stairs. “Why don’t you just miracle it?” Crowley called at him.

Halfway up to his flat, Aziraphale shouted over his shoulder, “It’s not as _fun!”_

After a few hour long minutes, there was a series of loud thuds as Aziraphale stumbled back down the stairs. He made his way back in front of Crowley and threw his hands out with a flourish, presenting himself like an actor at a standing ovation. Gone was his usual garb, replaced with a smock that looked at least a hundred years old. His face was hardly recognizable, sporting mutton chops that covered most of his startlingly ruddy cheeks and a set of teeth that would send a dentist into early retirement. 

He tipped the tattered brown hat on his head. “Good afternoon, miss!” His voice had shifted into a low overacted West Country accent. “Me names Brother Francis.” 

Aziraphale saw Crowley bring a hand up to hide her smile. The was the soft sound of a snicker, but she quickly collected herself, although the sound of mirth did not leave her voice. “Pleased to meet you.” She began to circle him, stopping once she made a full rotation. Looking him over with a critical eye, she frowned for a moment before pulling a blue scarf out of thin air with a snap that made Aziraphale jump. She walked over to him and wound it around his neck before tying it into a loose knot. She patted his chest before taking a step back to reassess him. 

“There, that’s better. Now, would you care to accompany me to the park, _Francis?”_

“Why, nothing would please me more, Ms. Ashtoreth.” Aziraphale threaded his arm through Crowley who seemed startled by the development. “Just to get into character,” he said in his normal tone of voice before leading her out the door. 

At St. James Park they wandered, forgoing their usual bench and instead deciding to stretch their legs. It was different than their normal excursions, talking in whispers, hiding from the eyes and ears of their respective head offices.

Although Heaven or Hell would easily be able to spot them, there was something freeing about their disguises, like they were hiding in plain sight. They didn’t think about the coming apocalypse, just chatted about whatever struck their fancy, still linked arm in arm and if asked, Aziraphale would say it was only to keep up the charade.

He would be lying.

But here amongst the park-goers and ducks, there was no one to ask and no reason for them to let go of one another. They weren’t an angel and a demon, they were a nanny and gardener. An odd pair, but a pair nevertheless. There was no fear in this moment, no urgency. It wasn’t too fast or too slow, it just was. 

“A lovely day for a stroll isn’t it?”

“Ah, why yes, Brother Francis.” 

“I believe these disguises are as convincing as anything, wouldn’t you reckon, Ms. Asoterth?” Aziraphale whispered, nodding his head politely to a passing couple. 

“I think the accent is a big much, but it suits you Francis, dear.” Aziraphale ducked, hiding a pleased smile at the term of endearment. Pretending not to be pleased at his reaction, Crowley drawled on, “Although, I still have doubts on your gardening prowess.” She patted his arm patronizingly.

“Aye, well that’s easy enough to prove!” Aziraphale regretfully unhooked their arms and crouched down next to the grass. 

With a dramatic exclamation he trailed his hands over the ground as daffodils and daisies sprung up, they spread for a few meters around them like a ripple in a still pond. White and yellow buds burst open and filled the air with a sweet smell. Aziraphale looked up at Crowley expectantly, lopsided grin plastered to his face.

Crowley crosses her arms and made a point of looking annoyed. “That’s _cheating_ ,” 

“Depends on the rules.” Aziraphale turned his focus back to the grass and used a quick miracle to pull a single red tulip from the earth, a declaration of words they could not say. Admiring his handy work, he plucked it from the ground, petals falling into a perfect bloom. With a theatrical huff, he stood and turned toward Crowley. “For you, my dear.”

But Crowley wasn’t there anymore. Instead of St. James park, he was standing in a field that stretched across his entire line of sight. He squinted, but still couldn’t see anything but rolling blue hills, a shade so light it blended with the sky, obscuring the horizon. 

The tulip in his hand lost its color, as if it were in a black and white photograph. Aziraphale could tell it was red, but his eyes couldn’t seem to process it as such, like he had suddenly become color blind. He puzzled over the flower and watched as the petals shrank in on themselves before stem and all crumbled to dust. 

He looked down at his feet. Forget-me-nots. Their blue sprawl covered as far as they eye could see. The flowers shifted in a breeze, making the earth look like it was trembling. He swallowed bile rising in his throat, a feeling he hadn't felt for a hundred years, and steadied himself.

 _This can’t be real. I don’t understand what’s happening. Where’s Crowley?_ His thoughts echoed around the field as if they were spoken from every direction. As clear as they would be in his own mind. The sound was so loud it almost hurt.

Something pulled in his chest, an ache that had no reason. His heart was broken and he didn’t understand why. There was something he was forgetting and the answer lay in the flowers. If he could just touch one maybe he could remember something, anything. His hand was heavy and he didn’t reach so much as let it fall. A single flower reached up to him, like he was the sunlight keeping it alive. 

His hands were shaking as he felt an energy build around him, tension that stretched tight the closer he got to touching the delicate petals.

His fingertip met the flower. The tension broke.

Images flashed in his mind, images that didn’t make sense. _Crowley._ Over and over again the same thing. Scenes that had never happened. Dining at the Ritz. Learning about the Antichrist. Handing Crowley a thermos of Holy Water. That had never happened, why could he picture it so clearly? Why could he feel it like he was there? He tried to hold onto the images but as soon as the crossed his mind they vanished like spun sugar dropped in water.

The flower he had reached out to had wound up his wrist without his notice. As he watched, others began to crawl up his legs like a snake, vines strong enough that he couldn’t break free. He pulled at them, but it only made them tighten their grip. 

They spread like wildfire, consuming him. He tried to call out for help, but he choked as the flowers filled his mouth and began to force their way down his throat. 

They tasted like ash. There was no sweetness to them, nothing floral about it at all. It was ash and decay. 

Lethe. They tasted like the River Lethe.

Aziraphale’s panic renewed itself as pulled at the vines to no avail. He was forgetting and it felt like drowning. What was he forgetting? Obviously something important. He tried to pull up the images in his head but was only met with static. He gagged as the flowers turned to water, pouring into his body as well as his celestial soul, cleansing him of all warmth and chilling his very core. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as his stomach heaved. 

* * *

The Bentley’s door decided it was in its best interest to open as fast as it could, not wanting to have its upholstery ruined, and Aziraphale took the opportunity to stumble out and empty the contents of his stomach on the sidewalk outside of his bookshop.

Crowley stepped out of the car with far less urgency and leaned against the car frame. “For an angel, you’re awfully prone to motion sickness,” he drawled out casually.

Still a bit shaken, Aziraphale wiped his mouth with the back of his trembling hand. “You must take into consideration that you were _speeding_ like- like- _”_

“Like the devil?” he supplied with a sharp grin. With a snap, the mess on the sidewalk vanished.

Aziraphale glared at him and reached back into the car to grab the bundle of books waiting patiently on the seat. Still safe. Not a page out of place. He pulled them tightly to his chest just to make sure they were really there. In the grand scheme of things, the books weren’t the greatest in his collection. He had many that were worth more, or that he enjoyed more, but to him, each book was precious. A piece of history and knowledge.

His gaze turned back to Crowley, who nonchalantly looked up at the cloudy sky, and softened. The books were really only worth something to Aziraphale. A silly sentimental attachment that had no weight in the grand scheme of things. It was important to remember that despite all his posturing, Crowley was kind, just didn’t like being told so. It broke the tentative boundaries they had set. Crossed lines that they were already tipping over. He remembered the time Crowley had called him wicked once. Aziraphale hadn’t spoken to him for a week. 

Normally Aziraphale would have been able to save the books himself. It would have been a minor effort on his part. But they had been in a _church_ and the grounds were consecrated, no telling what that did to Crowley’s powers. There was a bowl of holy water less than twenty feet away, sitting out in the open. There was no telling what would happen to it in the aftermath of an explosion. _The water could have catapulted across the room and hit the demon standing at the altar._ Aziraphale thought to himself. _Evaporate into vapor and fill the air, travel to the lungs._ Upon reflection, it was a silly thought. It wouldn’t have taken a miracle to make sure that the water didn’t reach them, but Aziraphale had used one anyways. Poured every ounce of his powers into it, reached into the depth of his angelic soul to shield them. Made sure that every holy molecule dispersed away from them. If anything had happened to Crowley, it would be Aziraphale’s fault entirely. 

Crowley. Gone. Because of him. He probably would have received a commendation. 

The thought settled into his stomach like lead. The world spun around him and he looked at the sidewalk, trying to ground himself. The heart beating in his chest, a triviality on any given day, seemed to be racing out of control. The nausea returned in full force and it washed over him like the tide in a storm. Cold, harsh, and disorienting. He tried to take a deep breath of fresh air but was only pulled further under the waves. The air hadn’t been fresh for months, filled with gunpowder and fear, debris and hopelessness. He didn’t need to breathe but the idea that he suddenly couldn’t made it impossible to focus. His stomach rolled again and he brought a hand to his mouth. 

There was a cough, and as if by a miracle, the clouds in the sky seemed to break, revealing a patch of stars. The smoke cleared the air for a brief reprise. Crisp. Sharp. Fresh. Aziraphale drew in a few deep breaths and something settled inside him. 

He turned to look at Crowley to find him closely examining his nails, picking at a cuticle, lips pursed as if focusing very hard to look like he wasn’t focusing. 

As if sensing the weight of his gaze, Crowley looked up, eyebrows raised in question. “Alright, Angel?”

“Yes. Tip top. As dandy as a dandelion!” The demon seemed to hesitate, but then accepted the answer and looked back up at the sky. 

Aziraphale hummed and followed his gaze. The stars appeared brighter than they had the last time he had seen them. Twinkling on the black canvas of night like the finest paint.

Crowley seemed pensive, eyes shifting as if going through memories that had been long buried. He opened his mouth to say something, but then lost his script and cluttered some sounds together. He huffed, thought a moment longer, and tried again, seeming to choose each word carefully, “You know, originally there were supposed to be less than a dozen stars? Nobody really saw the point into putting all that work into something that’s just gonna be a dot on the night sky. And I thought- Well I thought that all that was a load of bollocks. The humans would need something to look at in the night sky. Something to guide them, make up little constellations to help tell their stories. Give them company on lonely nights.” 

He was silent for a moment, as if that was all there was to say on the matter. Aziraphale waited, not wanting to break the atmosphere that had settled over them. Crowley took a deep breath and continued, words spoken like a confession, “Took some convincing but eventually they saw it my way. ‘Why not a couple more here? And a few there?’ Wouldn’t do to just have a couple little specks in the sky. Would probably make them feel even more alone.” There was a softness in his voice, a tone lost in the past, reliving something from thousands of years ago.

Aziraphale was taken aback, having forgotten that Crowley had built part in the night sky. That he was once an angel, like himself. Aziraphale found it odd he had no memory of Crowley in heaven. Didn’t even know his original angelic name. Unless, he wondered to himself, it had always been Crawley, but that seemed a little far fetched. He had never asked about the demons time in heaven. It seemed to be in poor taste to bring up such an unpleasant thing. 

“They’re still so far away from each other.” 

Crowley was still looking toward the flickering lights, so many miles away. “Yes. but at least they know they’re not by themselves. A thousand stars up there. Lonely, but not alone.” The soft orange glow of the street lights reflected off his sunglasses as he turned his head toward Aziraphale. “Even if you can’t be with someone, it helps to know you’re not alone.” 

The books in his hands seemed to grow heavy. Holding so much more than just ink on aging paper. Holding a promise. Holding- 

Love. That’s what the books held. Love. 

He was an angel. He could sense these kinds of things. Had felt something tickling in the back of his mind for a couple of centuries but it wasn’t until now, what he understood it for what it was. Familiarity, fondness, devotion--Love. But this was his own love. Something that had been growing for quite some time, being ignored out of fear, but now the gentle hum had shifted into a clear ringing, impossible to ignore. 

He thought back to their conversation as St. James so many years ago. Holy water. Such a dangerous thing but was it more dangerous than their friendship? 

It had taken thousands of years to admit it, but Crowley _was_ his friend. Their Arrangement had shifted over the years, becoming less convenience and more solidarity. Heaven and Hell left them to their own devices and as nice as it was to not have someone breathing down his neck constantly, it became lonely after a century or three. Crowley was the only being on this planet that could possibly understand that feeling. 

Heaven wouldn’t understand. Aziraphale knew that. Their friendship had to be kept secret. There would be consequences if they found out he had been fraternizing. 

Crowley was afraid. Wouldn’t say it outright, but said it in other ways. In 1862- _What if it all goes wrong?_ What if they find out. _I want insurance._ I need protection. Holy water. 

Aziraphale didn’t know if he could go through with it. It put too much on the line. Exposed too much of Aziraphale’s heart. 

Across from him, Crowley shifted on his feet and winced. He did his best to hide it, but unfortunately it wasn’t good enough. 

“My dear, you seem to be hurt.”

Crowley waved him off. “Demons don’t do well with consecrated grounds.” He lifted his foot and examined the soles of his shoes which upon close inspection seemed to be smoking slightly. “Hurts like… well not like _Hell_ I suppose but that’s rather the point isn’t it?” He shrugged and gingerly set his foot back down.

Aziraphale frowned briefly and gestured to the shop behind him. “Do come inside. Rest your feet for a moment. It’s the least I can do.” _Let me take care of you. Let show you with actions what I can’t say with words. Let this small thing be enough for us right now._

They stared at each other for a moment. Something blooming in between them. The moment broke and Crowley made a show of rolling his eyes in defeat. 

“Yes, alright. I suppose it was your fault in the first place. Trying to play spy. Honestly angel, didn’t you learn your lesson in Greece? You’re a terrible liar.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he lied unconvincingly. With a smile he turned toward the shop and opened the door for him, waving him in politely. Crowley grimaced with each step, trying to play it off as a saunter, and made is way slowly into the bookshop, 

Still standing at the threshold, Aziraphale looked back out to the night sky. At the stars shining. He blinked and there were less. Taken aback he squinted, seeing if his eyes were playing tricks on him but no. There were less stars than had been moments ago. He blinked again and more were gone. 

The black of the sky seemed more overwhelming, more all consuming. 

They were more than just stars though. He felt them leaving his mind. Memories. Blinking out. Walks along St. James. Rescues in Paris. Plays at the Globe Theater. Thwarted wiles and traded miracles. 

With each star he lost a part of himself. Became a stranger to his own mind. And so did Crowley. The familiarity they shared shifted and pulled away. Aziraphale’s love grew more distant, more unsure. 

He shut his eyes, trying to steady himself. When he opened them, there were only two stars in the sky and as he watched, one was snuffed out. Leaving a single light in the sky. By itself. Alone.

Aziraphale held his breath. Eyes locked on the pinpoint in the sky. Everything hinged on it and he thought that if he could prevent himself from closing his eyes, he could hold onto it. 

From behind him, there was a loud bang and he reflexively blinked. When he opened them there was nothing. Not darkness or blackness but a simple lack of anything. 

* * *

There was a knock at the door. A loud and impatient knock. It echoed through Aziraphale’s cottage and startled the angel to the point that he couldn’t seem to remember what it was that he had just been doing. Something to do with star charts? He shook his head to clear the fleeting thoughts and went to answer the door. 

It wasn’t unusual for villagers to seek him out. Asking for advice or needing a kind ear to listen. His current posting had been a good and simple one that brought him a certain sense of joy. It was a little on the nose what with the whole Good Shepherd and Lamb of God bit but it suited Aziraphale. The work itself didn’t. Too much running about and actual _work_ not to mention the outfit was quite drab…but a quiet life in the country was nice. A minor miracle here and there kept the sheep out of trouble.

He was excited to help whoever it might be at the door, ready to guide them and shepherd them the same way he did his flock of sheep. He pulled on a bright smile as he swung open the door. “Good afterno-” he stopped short. Fear flashed across his eyes as he took in the shadowy figure clouding his stoop. He took a step back with a gasp. “A demon! A demon of _Hell._ Mine own enemy and adversary! What business do you have darkening my doorstep? Leave before I am forced to bring down the wrath of Heaven upon you!” He raised a hand to the sky and a light shone righteously. 

The figure seemed unperturbed and rolled his eyes behind colored lenses that obscured snake-like pupils. “Are you finished?” The demon Crowley drawled, unamused but used to the theatrics. 

Aziraphale lowered his hand but was still on guard. He poked his head out to look for witnesses: human, ethereal, or occult. Finding none, he stepped back and gestured inside, face splitting into a warm smile. 

“How was Germany? I take it the blessing and temptation went off without a hitch?”

“Yes, yes. Everything went fine.” Crowley waved off the question and walked further into the cottage, placing a heavy satchel on the table. “I’ve brought you a gift. No need to thank me.” 

There was a tone of proud mischief in his voice that Aziraphale didn’t trust. He eyed the demon suspiciously. The arrangement between them was less than a thousand years old. Trust was a slow process, especially when that who you were supposed to trust was an actual demon from Hell.

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “What misdeed have you done?”

“Mis- wha- _misdeed?_ Aziraphale, I brought you a gift.” He seemed affronted by the accusation. Aziraphale felt a twinge of guilt and opened his mouth to apologize, but Crowley continued on. “Just because I _stole it_ doesn’t mean it loses any of the sentiment. I’m a demon after all. I have job quotas to deal with.” 

The guilt evaporated and Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “And I am an _angel_. I cannot accept gifts that have been taken by sinful means!”

“Well then, _angel,_ this was two birds, one stone. Consider it a free thwarting, you ‘apprehended’ what I stole.” He crossed his arms and sniffed indignantly. “You haven’t even seen what it is.”

There was a moment of silence that stretched between the two of them. Aziraphale hadn’t meant to come across as rude. Truth be told he didn’t dislike the demon and that frightened him the most. It would be better to keep him at a distance, but for some reason the two of them seemed to be drawn towards one another.

This game of push and pull had become familiar. Crowley would offer. Aziraphale would refuse. Crowley would rebuttal. Aziraphale would concede. It was a system that they had worked out very early on in the Arrangement. 

He sighed and reached out his hands to accept whatever the demon had in store for him. “Alright. Let’s have it then. Let me seize this stolen item so that I might thwart you.” 

“Close your eyes. Don’t want to ruin the surprise.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes but acquiesced. There was a shuffling and a thrill of fear ran through Aziraphale. This had all been a ploy to get the angel to lower his guard. Had been since before the Arrangement. Maybe since the beginning. Getting an angel to close his eyes while the demon prepared a strike. Aziraphale had been a fool and now that would be his undoing. He never should have-

Something heavy was placed in his hands. He peeked an eye open, still worried that it could be a trap of some sort, but instead he was holding a book. 

“It’s…a book.”

“Your powers of observation are as sharp as ever. Not just _a_ book. _The_ book. It’s a bible. I _stole_ a bible.” 

“A bible.” 

“Yes, but _this_ bible is special. This bloke down in German has made a machine that can print books without all that hand writing over and over again. Gonna revolutionize book production he said. A feat of human ingenuity, one of a kind, and I _stole it._ ” He emphasized the last bit, rocking up on the top of his toes.

“But…can’t he just print another copy?”

Crowley rocked back down and he looked at a loss for words. He spluttered for a moment. “Well he can’t make the _first printed bible_ again can he?” 

Aziraphale nodded his head in agreement, furrowing his eyebrows to appear serious and squash down a smile. It didn’t work as well as he hoped and Crowley glared at him. 

Ignoring the demon, Aziraphale took the book and placed it on the table. With gentle hands he opened the cover. “I must say, the craftsmanship is impeccable. Thank you.”

“ _Don’t,”_ Crowley cut in, “thank me.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Aziraphale said absently, completely transfixed on the book. He delicately turned the page and trailed his fingers over the words printed there. The were words he had read before but it wasn’t the words that he was impressed with, it was humanity. To go from stone tablets to pages was a wonder and a miracle in itself. Here in front of him was evidence that humans could grow. Could bring themselves up from nothing. What would they think of next?

There was a movement to his side and he looked up, Crowley had leaned over and was studying the book with as much wonder as Aziraphale felt, the distance between them now mere inches. From this distance, he could feel Crowley’s body heat. Warm and familiar. Familiar not because they frequently touched, but because Crowley was the most constant presence on earth. Aziraphale could stay by the side of a human for everyday of their life and still Aziraphale would have spent more time with Crowley just in the random meetings that had happened over the years. Humans didn’t stick around that often, but he had known Crowley for over five millennium. One couldn’t help but become accustomed to something after such a long time. 

Aziraphale was thinking that if he shifted just a bit to his left, they would be touching when Crowley spoke, breaking whatever trance Aziraphale has put himself in. 

“Clever bunch aren’t they? The whole lot of them.”

Aziraphale nodded, abandoning the thought of moving closer, suddenly realizing how dangerous that thought was. Demon. Angel. The whole hereditary enemies. In all his time as a shepherd, he had never seen any of the sheep cozied up to a wolf. They seemed to have sense that he lacked. 

With a huff, he turned back to the book. “Odd. There seem to be some words missing.” He studied the words on the page but they lifted off the page and vanished into air, ink turning to ash as he watched in confusion. 

“No. No. No.” Aziraphale frantically turned the page only to find devoid of any type. He tried again and again, flipping through the pages but every one was just as blank. Clear and empty. No stories. 

He grasped the side of the table, desperate to hold onto what he could, not willing to lose another memory. What had happened next? Before? There was a shadow looming over Aziraphale. Someone he couldn’t recognize. He his grip was slipping. Another part of himself gone. His love of humanity and their creations. What did it matter to an angel? His grip tightened and he looked towards Crawly- _Crowley_.

Crowley was still looking at the book, reading words that hadn’t vanished to him. He was saying something but Aziraphale couldn’t hear them, only heard a low roll of thunder. The entire world began to shake. A deep tremor that shook Aziraphale’s entire cabin, it grew larger and larger until a crack split the floor, tearing the room in half, creating a chasm between the two of them. There was a cracking noise and the house around them fell into itself. The structure nothing more than a paper, a hollow copy of something that had once been so real. The image was pulled away and dragged under the earth. Leaving only Aziraphale and Crowley. 

The demon was still looking at where the book had been, mouthing words that couldn’t be remembered, the divide stretched and pulled him away. Aziraphale reached out. Tried to grab a hold of him but the earth gave way under his feet and the angel fell.

* * *

Aziraphale braced himself on the table as another earthquake shook the restaurant. Dust slowly drifted from the ceiling as the stone building readjusted itself after the minor disturbance. It wasn’t that crowded this early in the morning but the few people who were sitting around seemed unbothered. 

“That was a big one,” The nearby waitress commented casually, as if this sort of thing happened every day. In fact, it had been happening everyday. For the last three days at least. 

He gave a terse nod, trying to offer a smile, but he was unable to hide his anxiety. She motioned to fill his cup with more wine, but he placed his hand over the rim and shook his head. He had already had a glass and at a certain point he would be drinking for more than just “blending in,” especially this early in the day. The waitress shrugged at the odd display and continued on her way. 

The angel was looking down into his empty glass when suddenly someone slunk into the seat across from him. “That was one _Hell_ of an earthquake,” the newcomer said smugly. Aziraphale kept his gaze lowered and did his best to hide a smile. It was not a good look to smile when faced with one’s adversary. 

“I doubt Hell has anything to do with it,” he tutted, lifting his head in time to catch Crowley shrug. 

Not much had changed in Crowley’s appearance since he last saw him, less than four decades ago. His hair was short and he was still wearing those odd lenses on his face. It did little to hide his serpent eyes but, Aziraphale reasoned, it took very little effort to direct the humans attention. 

“So what brings you to Pompeii?” The demon asked. “Tired of Rome, already?” 

“No.” Aziraphale’s bashful smile shifted and became forced, all sense of mirth gone, replaced with the anxiety that had been looming over him, heavy like a boulder on his chest. “If you _must_ know I’m here for business.” 

“Business? Wouldn’t have anything to do with that big mountain that’s about to explode would it?”

“Keep your voice down! A panic is not what the humans need.”

“It’s _exactly_ what they need if they want to make it out of here in time.” Crowley drawled, grabbing Aziraphale’s cup and frowning when he found it empty. He tossed it over his shoulder and didn’t even wince when it shattered on the ground. 

Aziraphale snapped with a huff and the mug found itself back on the table and fortunately in one piece. Crowley peered into it, looking to see if it had also filled itself, but Aziraphale slapped his had over the rim with a glare. “There’s a man here who- who is meant to perish in the…” He looked around, keeping a careful eye on the other patrons around them and leaned forward toward Crowley, waving him closer. Crowley rolled his eyes but complied.“ _The you know what,_ ” he whispered, loud enough to be mistaken for a stage actor.

“Subtle.” Crowley sat back in his seat. 

Ignoring the demon’s obvious tease, Aziraphale moved on. “I have been assigned to sway him to the Right side before he meets his end.”

“Well, you better get started. Doubt there’s more than a day left of the ol’ Pompeii.”

“Yes. Here’s the thing. I’ve seen the man and he is _vile_. Corrupt to the bone and unbelievably cruel to others. I don’t know if he’s even capable of being saved.” Aziraphale felt his skin crawl just thinking about him and started fidgeting with his cup. Wishing it were full again. “I’ve done this sort of thing before but not with such a short time frame and such a hard case. I- I don’t know what will happen if I fail. Gabriel said-”

“I could help you.” 

Aziraphale stopped short. The heart he didn’t technically need seemed to forget itself and did an uncomfortable lurch. 

“What?”

“I said I could help you.” He said some what impatiently. “Go visit this bloke and lend a miracle or two.” 

Something seemed to hinge on this moment, Crowley’s words hanging heavy in the air. Heavy like an apple hanging from a tree. 

“Why would you do that?”

“Then you’d owe me. Could do a small temptation for me at some other point in time.”

“Absolutely not!” 

Crowley scoffed at the sudden outburst. “It would be like canceling each other out. Won’t do any harm, won’t do any good. But at least our bosses will be satisfied.” 

“You do make a fair point. And oh, I _could_ use the help. It would just be this once?”

With a solemn nod Crowley held out his hand. “Just this once.”

The moment lingered, barely holding on by the thread of a stem. The entire branch snapped and Aziraphale shook his hand. 

“Now,” Crowley said with a devious grin. “Let’s go save a soul.”

* * *

Several hours and miracles later, they were rudely thrown out of the home of a human with one decidedly still Damned soul. 

“That man is so wretched I don’t even think _our_ lot would want him.” Crowley spit at the door. He sighed and turned to Aziraphale. “At least we’ve got enough time to hightail it out of here. Save our own skin before Vesuvius has a fit.” 

As if waiting for its cue, there was an almighty rumble as the earth shook. Crowley threw back his head and groaned dramatically before turning toward the volcano. A plume of smoke rose above Vesuvius and as they watched, it grew bigger and darker, like a patch of night sprawling across the sky. The earthquake grew more violent. Not a usual quake that the area was accustomed to. This was something much bigger. 

Shingles started falling off rooftops, shattering as they hit the ground. A sense of confusion settled over the humans but not quite panic. Not fully understanding the scale of what was happening. Some stood around while others swiftly made their way home. None of them paid any mind to Aziraphale and Crowley, 

Aziraphale stood rooted to the spot, watching the ash climb higher and higher. Dread replaced the panic he had been feeling. It no longer was what could happen or what might happen. Now it was what _would_ happen. It was all real. He had failed. Had done everything in his power and still couldn’t do what was asked of him. Not even Crowley’s help had made a difference. Had it not been help? Had it been sabotage? The sly demon finally getting the upper hand on the angel?

No. Crowley had put in as much effort as Aziraphale had. He couldn’t even see where there was room for foul play. Not when it had been hopeless from the start. 

They had _failed._ Aziraphale had failed.

The thought kept churning in his mind, black and shadowy like the very eruption in front of him. His corporation seemed to be malfunctioning. He felt cold and hot all at once, sweat cooling uncomfortable at his temples. It was difficult to focus on any one thing. All he felt was his heart pounding in his chest, louder and more uncomfortable than it had ever been. The ash hadn’t even reached them, but already he found it difficult to breathe. Gabriel had said- He had said that-

“Let’s get a move on. We can get out before the humans really start to panic.” Crowley had already started walking down the street, picking whichever path would get them South to safety. He sounded so far away although he couldn’t be more than a few feet. He was saying more words but Aziraphale couldn’t hear them. Couldn’t even hear the din of the nervous humans walking around them. Just a ringing. 

A hand shook him and the world came back to him. Crowley had come back and was standing in front of him, trying to cover the concern on his face with annoyance. 

“Aziraphale! Are you even listening to me?” 

He looked at the hand on his shoulder and then to Crowley’s face as if only now just connecting the two. It felt grounding, like Crowley was the only real thing in the situation, a tether in a storm that was growing more violent with each gust. He pulled himself out of his stupor and even then it took a minor miracle for him to find his voice. “I can’t leave.” His throat closed again but he pressed on. “I’ll be in trouble if I leave my post before finishing my duties.

“But you _can’t_ finish them. That bloke is beyond saving. There’s nothing you could do in three years, let alone three hours.”

“Even if that’s the case… I am under strict orders not to leave.” He put on a brave face, stood taller. “Discorporation will serve as my punishment for failing my duties.”

 _“Punishment?_ _”_ The anger in Crowley’s voice startled him. “Wha- How can you be punished for something that isn’t your fault? Don’t you see how messed up that system is?”

“Crowley, I can’t challenge what comes from Above.” 

“Did God Herself tell you that? Or did it get passed down the grapevine, interpreted this way and that way until you can’t even be sure what the original message was!” Something demonic was slipping through, as if the veil of his unholy nature was being lifted just an inch.

 _“ _Ple_ ase, _ my dear fellow. You have to understand. _”_

The anger seemed to vanish from Crowley, replaced with something that Aziraphale could almost call sadness. Not pity, but a desperate sort of commiseration. "Of course I understand.” 

Aziraphale dropped his head and stared at the ground.

Part of him agreed with Crowley and that scared him. He couldn’t voice those thoughts. Couldn’t ask those questions. It felt dangerously close to blasphemy. He felt the sting of tears gather at his eyes and he blinked, willing them away. 

_Is the thought of a question the same as asking it?_ He wondered, terrified of the answer.

There was silence for a long moment and Aziraphale felt compelled to look up. Aziraphale found Crowley examining him intensely, calculating, studying. He was searching for something, the iris of his yellow eyes shifting slightly over Aziraphale.

“Right.” The tension broke and the demon raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. “Suppose the only thing left to do is get drunk.” He started walking in the opposite direction, past a flabbergasted Aziraphale.

“Wha- get _drunk_?” He tripped after Crowley. 

“Yep.” He kept walking, as if unconcerned with the volcano erupting just six miles from them. A complete disregard for his own safety. 

An unexpected fury ripped though Aziraphale. He grabbed Crowley by the shoulder and spun him around, suddenly worried for the well-being of someone who was supposed to be his enemy. “There’s still time for you to leave! You don’t have to stay here.”

“Yes.” Crowley seemed unbothered by the outburst, and spoke slowly as if Aziraphale was being particularly slow. “But, here’s the thing. I’ve got a townhouse here. Great collection of wines and it won’t be around for much longer will it?” He left no room for further argument and turned from Aziraphale, walking toward the great spire of ash coming from the mountain. 

Aziraphale stood there, watching after Crowley, and he felt himself soften. Actions really do speak louder than words and this wasn’t so much an action that spoke but rather screamed at the top of it’s lungs. _You’re my friend, and I’m not leaving you._

“Aziraphale, come on!”

With a deep breath that had already begun to taste like ash, Aziraphale followed.

* * *

By the time they made it to Crowley’s modest-to-the-wealthy looking town home, the great clouds of smoke had spread in the sky, shrouding everything under a shadow. Ash had begun to fall and with it small pumice stones, hitting the ground with a constant pattering. 

A larger panic had settled among the populous and their shouts and yells were met in volume by the loud roars of thunder rolling through the blackened sky. There was pushing and shoving, heavy feet trampling over whatever was in the way. It was as dark as midnight on a moonless night and only a few torches were lit, adding to the confusion. A flash of lightning illuminated the scene, only for a moment.

A child, a girl no more than eight, was pressed up against the wall on the other side of the street from them. She cowered as the sound of thunder roared down. She was alone, separated from her family in the chaos, lost in a sea of people, none of them sparing her a glance. Clear lines fell down her cheeks, tears washing away the ash that clung to her face. 

She was going to die. Aziraphale knew it with absolute certainty. The thought made him feel hollow. There was nothing Aziraphale could do. His strength would only go so far, there was no miracle powerful enough to save her, to save any of the people who hadn’t had the sense to leave the city at this point.

There was a snap, unheard to all except Aziraphale. He furrowed his brows in confusion, but before he could piece the puzzle together, there was a shout that rose above all the noise. A name called out by a man desperately fighting against the stream of the crowd. He called out again and again ignoring the shoulders shoving him this way and that, miraculously making his way to a clearing where he scanned the area until spotted the girl. His mouth formed a name. A whisper that not even Aziraphale could here. 

The girl did though. She looked up and with a cry she shouted, “Papa!” 

The father rushed forward and dropped to his knees, a matching trail of tears down his own face. The girl fell into his arms, crying even harder now, overwhelmed. He pressed his mouth to her forehead and something in his body seemed to ease. 

There was still fear, still so much fear, a writhing, stuttering thing, but something pulled at the strings wrapped around Aziraphale’s heart: love. Just a brief flash, like lightning, but blinding in its intensity. They still had each other and would until the bitter end. A small comfort for this family as the world ended. 

He turned to Crowley, but the demon had already turned into the building.

With one last glance at the reunited father and daughter, Aziraphale followed Crowley inside to a modest atrium. With a snap there was suddenly light. The room was lush with greenery and plants of all types, crowding the walls like a garden. Many had fallen over, pots turned over and smashed, spilling dirt across the floor. Something about it made it look more natural. More wild. Almost familiar. 

“That was kind of you,” he said, brushing as much ash as he could from the front of his toga. 

In less than a blink, Crowley had closed the distance between them and pushed Aziraphale against the wall, an arm against his chest holding him in place. The swiftness startled Aziraphale but he was not frightened, although some small part in his mind screamed at him that he should be. 

“Don’t _ever_ call me kind,” Crowley hissed. “I’m a demon. Kindness gets me in trouble. I’ve never done a kind thing in my life. Do you understand?”

The angel made a vaguely agreeing noise. Still too taken aback to for a proper response. From this distance he could see Crowley’s eyes in better detail. The whites of his eyes had completely vanished, leaving only yellow, even the black slits of his pupils looked sharper, more demonic. 

Crowley released him and walked across the room and further into the house. Aziraphale waited a moment, collecting himself before trailing after him.

Eventually they made it to what would pass as a kitchen if a human lived there. Dishes and bottles were smashed across the floor, displaced from the earthquakes. With a snap a bottle and two cups fixed themselves and flew onto the counter. 

He filled a cup with the wine and offered it to Aziraphale. 

“Oh. I really shouldn’t.”

“I’ve seen you drink before. Seen you absolutely _sloshed._ ”

“Yes, but that was because there were humans around.” He primly brushed more ash off his clothes. “It would have been suspicious if I didn’t partake.”

The demon scoffed and pointedly shook the cup at Aziraphale. “You’re a terrible liar. Take the cup, you hedonist.”

Righteous fury began building inside him before he saw Crowley’s smirk and realized he was being teased. A small payback for the “kind” comment. Aziraphale shot him a scathing look but accepted the wine, which only made Crowley’s smirk slide into a full devilish grin. 

He peered into the cup, wondering, just for good measure, if Crowley had somehow managed to slip poison in it, finally acting like an actual adversary and not a friendly acquaintance. If it was poison it would destroy him, just discorporate him, and with a shudder he realized that was going to happen eventually anyways. 

Deciding he had spent a reasonable about of time acting suspicious, Aziraphale took a delicate sip.

“I suppose _one_ cup wouldn’t hurt.”

* * *

“They- they don’t even _have_ a word for volcano. Just call it ‘fiery mountain!’” Aziraphale was drunk. 

“Well it’s not ina- in-ack, it’s not _wrong._ ” Crowley was also drunk. 

At least nine of Crowley’s wine bottles had been miracled back together and subsequently emptied. The wine itself was very good and went down very smoothly, part of the perks of having vineyards in the shadow of a volcano. 

They were both drunk for the first time. That is to say, it wasn’t the first time they had been drunk but it was the first time they had both been drunk in front of the other. The foggy part of Aziraphale’s mind thought that there was some significance to this. Some odd level of mutual vulnerability that enemies shouldn’t show each other. 

Outside, the house was still pandemonium but it seemed distant from here. The stone walls blocked out the worst of it. Hours had passed, but with the sky still obscured by ash, it was still a moment stuck in night.

Crowley and Aziraphale had moved closer during those hours, now sitting on opposite sides of a large lounging couch, deciding around the fifth bottle that it made it easier to pass the wine back and forth, cups becoming an inconvenience around bottle number four.

Aziraphale started to say something but then choked instead, ash coming in with each ragged breath. He fell into a coughing fit and his stomach heaved.

“I- I think I’m going to sober up. All the coughing is making me nauseous.”

“Yeah, me too.” 

There were a few very uncomfortable moments as the alcohol burned out of their system, evaporating into the air. Everything had been fuzzy around the edges and it all came back with clarity. Volcano didn’t seem so bad after a few bottles of wine but now, with nothing to dull his senses, Aziraphale felt dread creep back into his consciousness. 

Crowley eyed the bottle of wine and took another swig. “Won’t be long now,” he muttered, handing over the bottle of wine which Aziraphale gladly accepted, the liquid offering a small relief to the scratch in his throat.

“How do you know?”

“Eh, call it Hellish intuition. Fire and burning and ash is kind of a demon’s bread and butter.” Aziraphale wondered if that was why Crowley hadn’t been coughing as much, and seemed overall unbothered by all of the ash. Hell must surely be worse.

“It really is like the end of the world, isn’t it?” Aziraphale rasped.

Crowley took a long swig of the wine, wetting his throat before speaking. “The world ends every day for someone. Doesn’t have to be the _whole_ world but at least their idea of what the world is. To all those people out there, the world is ending. To the majority of China it’s just another day in August.”

There was a great rumble and something deep in the earth seemed to shift, like the planet cracking it’s knuckles. A wall on the opposite side of the room began to crumble.

“This is it, the big one.” Crowley sounded strained, keeping a careful eye on the roof as if willing it not to fall. 

Aziraphale thought of the girl and her father, that moment of comfort that they were able to share. Wherever they were, he knew that they were together, would be for the rest of time. 

He was an angel and in the grand scheme of things this was more of an inconvenience to him, this wouldn’t be the end of him. Yet, some small part of him wished that he could have that comfort. Try as he might, he was scared. It was silly, but he really was. 

He looked to Crowley, his only companion in facing death. The demon who was supposed to be his adversary. Staying behind to sit by him even though he had every opportunity to leave. 

“I- I hate to say it but I’m a bit frightened.” Aziraphale drew in a sharp breath. “I’ve never been discorporated before.”

“It’s not so bad.” Crowley said unconvincingly as the room around them collapsed further. “The paperwork is the worst bit.”

Above them, the roof finally gave way. Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the impact, wondering if it would be enough to kill him. 

Instead he was pulled out of his seat and hit the floor, his shoulder taking the brunt of it. All his breath rushed out in one fell swoop and it took him a moment to remember how to make his lungs work. He managed to take a deep breath and noticed a new sharp pain in his chest, a broken rib perhaps, but felt otherwise unharmed. Safe even, suddenly it felt like a shroud had fallen over him. He opened his eyes and was met by the sight of feathers. Black shining feathers all around him. Beside him was Crowley, face strained with effort as he held the worst of the rubble off of them with a wing. They were face to face, bodies curling toward one another. Crowley had one arm wrapped around Aziraphale like an imitation of a lover’s embrace. 

_“ _O_ h. _ Oh, Crowley! You- Your wings.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” He gritted his teeth and groaned, revealing the lie. “Had worse,” he said more convincingly. “Are you alright?”

He nodded, stunned. It made no sense to Aziraphale that Crowley would save him. He was still going to die. They both were. 

In a flash, Aziraphale thought of that first rain, when he had sheltered Crowley with his own wings. There was a symmetry to the situation. Though this wasn’t rain, this was debris and stones, weighing hundreds of pounds. 

The materials around them shifted and Crowley grunted as his wings took on more weight. More weight than feathers, occult or not, had any right to bare. With a sickening crack, Crowley cried out as his wing broke and collapsed. 

Aziraphale gasped as he finally felt the weight press on him. It drew them together, erasing the already small amount of space between them.

Their faces were closer now, hardly an inch between them. Aziraphale could taste the wine on Crowley’s breath, feel the ghost of his lips against his own. They were sharing the same air, panting into each other’s mouths. Out of one’s lungs and into the others. 

“You didn’t deserve this,” Crowley whispered and Aziraphale felt the words in his own mouth.

Aziraphale wanted to respond, to tell Crowley that he was the one who didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve to be put to death for Aziraphale’s own failings. He wasn’t bound by duty to stay like Aziraphale was. The guilt of it, of causing Crowley pain of any magnitude, bore down on him heavier than the rocks. If he was a piece of coal the guild would have made him a diamond. There was so much he wanted to say. _Thank you for staying with me._

He took a breath to say something. Anything. Took the breath right from Crowley’s lungs but then everything began to tremble and this time it didn’t stop. It grew and grew and in the next instance they were enveloped in a blinding heat, a fire unlike anything Aziraphale had ever felt. This must be Falling, his punishment not only for failing his duties but for this tumultuous friendship. 

He gasped and instead of air, his lungs drew in hot ash. He kept choking, desperate for oxygen that would never come. His lungs grew heavy and Crowley’s arm around him tightened and drew his head to his chest, needlessly sheltering him in their last moments.

He thought he felt the press of dry lips against his forehead, a soft and gentle thing, so unlike his surroundings that it seemed to slow time. 

Then, to put it simply, Aziraphale died. 

* * *

There was a ringing sound, like a distant church bell, and Aziraphale’s eyes shot open. Above him was a gray sky filled with clouds, great and heavy with rain. A storm was brewing, the clouds rolled and shifted in the wind, like a horse chomping at the bit, waiting for its rider to ease the reins enough to take off at a gallop.

Aziraphale seemed to be lying on the ground but couldn’t remember how he got there. Couldn’t remember much of anything. There were fragments of thoughts and memories but nothing solid enough to wrap his mind around. He knew who he was- Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Principality, but even some of that seemed hollow. There was an emptiness in his mind that felt cold, like a broken window that let the draft in. He shivered and tried to draw in a steadying breath but there was a weight on his chest. He brought his hands up to push off whatever was there but found nothing. He tried to breathe again but the weight persisted. Every part of his body ached as he rolled over and pushed himself to his knees. 

He convulsed and coughed out a mouthful of ash. He tried to breathe again and felt his lungs expand, a weight lifted. He took a ragged breath, sucking in air as if his angelic body actually needed oxygen. A breath had never felt this welcome, this miraculous. He took another, letting it soothe the ache in his screaming lungs. The air tasted dry, like soot but Aziraphale didn’t care. Anything was a relief.

The ache in his chest lessened but didn’t vanish completely. It became a background feeling. Like something that you didn’t notice until you thought about it. He did his best to ignore it. 

Despite his body’s protests, Aziraphale pulled himself up from the ground. Every movement felt sluggish, like he was pulling against an unseen force. 

Once on his feet, he tried to gather his bearings but could only focus on an uncomfortable feeling in his jaw. He had been about to say something, could still feel the words forming on his lips. He opened his mouth, stretching out the sore muscles, hoping that the words would stumble out on their own, but there was no sound. His voice refused to push the words out and they stayed there, heavy on his tongue. Didn’t even know what they were. Something important, but he couldn’t remember for the life of him.

Life. He was alive. It seemed like a significant observation but it didn’t make sense. Of course he was alive. Why wouldn’t he be?

He looked around, taking in his surroundings. A garden. _The_ Garden to be precise. But it was not the peaceful Eden he remembered. All of the plants and trees around him seemed dull. Their color stripped from them. Everything a bleak gray. Nothing as absolute as black or as pure as white. It was as if the world had been cast in a great shadow.

The pressure in the air grew and the clouds rumbled in anticipation. Rain began to fall. He saw it darken spots on the leaves around him. It seemed to reveal the verdant color underneath. Cleaning away the gray but only for a moment before the saturation was leached away again. After only a few moments his robe was soaked. It leached away any warmth that he had and yet his lungs still felt dry, like none of the water would make it past his lips to quench the drought in his lungs. 

There was a panic building in him, deep in his stomach. Memories and thoughts were at war in his mind. Conflicting images that didn’t have the correct context. This garden was wrong. Nothing was where it ought to have been, no recognizable landmarks to guide him. He was a guardian of this place yet everything was strange to him. He walked through the brush, hoping to find something familiar, something that would bring him understanding. 

The rain grew in intensity as he pushed farther into the garden. Something was pulling him, like a compass that was built into the framework of this body. The true north guiding him forward, a magnet that lay just out of sight. 

The shrubs and leaves began to clear and Aziraphale caught a glimpse of red, breaking the monotony of gray that surrounded him. He quickened his pace, stumbling over roots in his haste. 

He was desperate as if each moment he didn’t move forward he was being pulled backwards. A branch snapped at his face and blood ran down his cheek. Thorns tore at his robe. The plants around him seemed to grow thicker, more wild and feral. Further and further he pushed until at last he burst through into a clearing, finally revealing what he was searching for. 

An apple tree. 

There, in the middle of the clearing, was an apple tree. A single red apple hung from a branch, swaying in time to the gusts of wind from the storm. 

Aziraphale walked forward, suddenly cautious. The ground here was barren, void of any life, no grass grew, just muddy earth. With each step the storm quieted, still raging in the garden behind him, but leaving a peace in this clearing. The sound of the storm became muted, as if miles away. He couldn’t hear himself breathe, couldn’t hear the rustle of the leaves, his steps silent as he walked closer. 

The silence was broken only by a whisper on the wind. No words or voice, just a murmur in Aziraphale’s ears. The tree was in front of him now, looming over him like a mountain, the apple hung just above eye level, still a gleaming beacon of color in an otherwise gray world. 

With another timid step, Aziraphale reached for the apple, but before he could close his hand around it, there was a snap and it fell to the ground. 

There was a rush as the storm poured back in. Wind screaming to life and whipping at Aziraphale’s robe and shaking the branches of the tree. With a gust, the apple rolled away from Aziraphale, downhill on a ground that had no slope. 

Aziraphale chased after it, desperate to hold it in his hands. It rolled and rolled until it hit the side of a great stone wall. It towered higher than any tree and Aziraphale strained his neck trying to see the top. He returned his attention to the errant apple, and only then did he notice that someone had already taken a bite from it. A piece was missing, uncovering what lay under the waxy skin: rot. An unnatural black rot that seemed to burn the air around it. It sank into the ground beneath it, swallowed by the earth like quicksand.

The storm shifted. Became more violent and all consuming. Gusts of wind pulled trees from their roots, knocking them over where they met the same fate as the apple. Aziraphale felt himself sinking, being pulled into the ground like the world around him. He grabbed the wall, using it to anchor himself. With a heave he pulled himself out of the ground and found a foothold in the stone. 

There was no where he could go but up. He reached up and pulled himself higher, stone by stone. 

His body was so tired, his lungs still ached, but all he could do was keep going. A rock gave way under his hand as he climbed and he scrambled to get a grip. His hands bled as they were cut against the sharp edges but he managed to keep his hold. He looked down and saw that there was no longer a garden beneath him, just a churning pit of ichor. He looked up and saw that the top of the wall was just within reach. 

With one final push, Aziraphale grabbed the top of the wall and heaved himself up to safety. With shaky legs he stood and found himself at the top of the wall, staring out into a vast desert. Two figures stood in the distance carrying a flaming sword. The humans, safely away from the crumbling garden. 

He turned and there was someone standing next to him. Despite the chaos behind him there was a sudden calm. _Crawley. Yes. Crawley the serpent. Bloke who gave Eve the apple. That sounds right._ Aziraphale thought to himself. 

Nausea rolled through Aziraphale, making his stomach clench. It wasn’t right. There was a distinct feeling of wrongness about it. 

The rain continued to pour down and Aziraphale raised his wing to covered them both, despite the fact that they were already drenched and the rain was coming from every direction. 

Crawley didn’t seem to notice, he was calm as if he didn’t see the world falling apart around them. Aziraphale tried to speak but the words were lost in the wind.

“Well,” the demon said voice somehow drowning out the rain, traveling not through sound but by something greater, something that echoed in Aziraphale’s bones, “That went down like a lead balloon.” 

There was a sinking feeling, heavy and dark. The ground beneath him crumbled and Aziraphale went with it. Crawly still stood on the wall, stone still solid beneath his feet, looking out to the desert, not seeing Aziraphale, not hearing him cry out. Aziraphale reached for him but he was already too far gone. He beat his wings, trying to gain back the height he had lost, but the air itself seemed to be falling with him. 

There was a feeling of loss so great that the world around him whited out even as he fell into the inky blackness below him. 

* * *

Aziraphale came to and everything was gone. He stood in a universe of black, in a time before creation had fully been Created.

Specks of light began to appear. Distant and faint.

He turned and across the expanse was a figure. Dressed in a white robe with white bright luminous wings that were elegantly folded behind their back. Long red hair tumbled from their head.

They were familiar to Aziraphale. Familiar in away that he could not comprehend. 

As Aziraphale stood there, the figure lifted their hands and a ball of light formed. It was vast and bright in a way that should not have been able to fit into someone’s hands. 

They lifted their hands and the light floated up amongst the other lights- the other stars, Aziraphale realized with sudden clarity. 

The figure seemed to be murmuring to the stars, gentle words of encouragement that seemed to make them grow brighter. 

Aziraphale called out a name. Couldn’t remember what it was or hear it himself, but the figure looked up nevertheless. 

Golden eyes met blue. 

The golden-eyed angel seemed startled to see him. “Aziraphale! What are you doing here?” They rushed towards him and with a sweep of their wings they were hiding, secreted away to a secret crevice in the firmament, where there were no wandering eyes, no eavesdropping stars to see the two of them. “You know we can’t be seen together. We’re not allowed.”

“My dear, I had to see you.” He brought his face to theirs, leaned forward until he could taste the night sky on their lips, smell the stardust that clung to them. “I heard about Lucifer. What’s happen-”

The figure could see Aziraphale’s mouth form a question. They pulled their hand over his lips. “Don’t ask questions. Everyone’s on edge, any question is cause for concern right now.”

“But-”

“Don’t ask questions.” They repeated. More firmly this time. “Please.” There was an air of desperation in their voice. 

Aziraphale stilled, thinking of what words he could say. He picked each one carefully, turning his questions into commands. “Tell me what’s happening.”

The other angel seemed tense and began to ramble. “There’s going to be a war. It’s already happening. Everything is set in motion. You’re safe. I know you’re safe. I made sure of it. Made a deal. You don’t deserve this. What’s going to happen to the rest of us.”

“You don’t either.”

They softened at his words and rubbed their thumb along Aziraphale’s cheek. “But I do, Aziraphale. I know I do. I- I’ve questioned things. About the way things are. I don’t regret what I’ve said, but I won’t have you damned with me.”

More questions burned at Aziraphale’s lips. He felt them like coals. His eyes begged for answers to a thousand questions. But he kept silent. 

“I know how to fix this. There’s a way to make you forget me.”

Aziraphale kissed them again, his worry began to turn into something heavy and metallic in his stomach. “I don’t want to forget.”

Their grip tightened on Aziraphale’s arm. “I’m sorry. There was no other way. I’ll do it too. We’ll forget each other and you’ll be safe. That’s all I want.”

“I don’t understand. I don’t want to be safe, I want you.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not up to you anymore,” a voice sounded from behind him. Aziraphale turned and was met by the sight of the archangel Gabriel, holding a pitcher of black ichor. “I will not lose any more angels. They’re already Damned, Aziraphale. You can still be saved. Whether you want to be or not. After all,” he turned to the redhead, “a deal’s a deal.”

Aziraphale whipped around to his love. Fear fed his anger and made it desperate. Their eyes met. “What did you do?” The question burned, but his anger burned hotter. 

“I-”

“ _What did you do?_ ”

“Aziraphale, I’m so sorry.”

The gold bled from their eyes. Poured down over their cheeks in a trail of tears. The color of their hair was rinsed away, leaving only gray. 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to call out to them, but felt liquid poured down his throat. A thick tar that tasted of ash. He tried to cough, to expel it from his body but it only worked itself deeper into him. 

He reached toward the figure, but he couldn’t move his feet. He looked down and saw black tar rising from beneath him. The last thing he saw was the gray-eyed angel looking at him, sorrow etched into every line in their face.

And then the current of the river Lethe swept Aziraphale away. 

* * *

Months passed. Slow and steady as a foot soldier marching on an endless path. Step by step, day after day. Aziraphale spent them in a sort of fugue state. Things happened but it didn’t feel real, like there was a lag between his actions and thoughts. His mind stuttered like a machine in need of oil. 

Heaven sent him orders and he followed them. He went through the motions, performed every task he was asked without complaint. Didn’t question what each blessing even meant, as long as it was done. His duty was to serve Heaven and he did so unwaveringly. It should have brought him divine joy to carry them to fruition.

But it didn’t. 

Instead, he was plagued by a specter that dwelled in his mind uninvited: the demon who had come into his shop all those months ago. He felt his yellow eyes staring into him, holding some sort of knowledge that Aziraphale wasn’t privy to. The demon had looked sad, not malicious like Aziraphale knew demons ought to look. The yellow tint of his eyes held a dejected shine. It was a look that haunted Aziraphale’s days, would haunt his dreams if sleeping was the sort of thing angels did. 

Sometimes he thought he saw a flash of red hair out the window, the gleam of light reflecting off the same sunglasses, but it was gone in an instance. It left Aziraphale unsettled, like there was a pile of rocks on his chest, constantly shifting, growing heavier and heavier as their weight settled. 

It was distracting. Made Aziraphale angry. No amount of miracles could stop the pressure in his chest. He didn’t need to breathe. The weight should be nothing. Should be easy to ignore, but every day his chest grew tighter, a vice on his heart. A string wrapped around it and constantly pulling. 

He knew where this string led. Could follow it like a map. The only thing to do was to cut. Take the thread and tear it out from the source.

He needed to find this demon. Put an end to whatever spell he had cast on him. Sever this tie for good. 

* * *

Crowley was miserable. Miserable wasn’t even the right word for it. It was something deeper, something so hollow and empty that didn’t even leave room for being miserable. He had spent many weeks being angry, drinking and breaking anything within his reach. Miracling it back together only to smash it against the ground again. The anger had burned away at him until he was left with only a deep sorrow which had slowly faded into emptiness. 

He spent his solitude at his flat in Mayfair, deciding there was no point in leaving. No reason to go out into the empty world and leave home. But it wasn’t really home. Home was blue eyes and soft hands, the smell of books, the taste of wine from another’s lips. Home was gone. 

Aziraphale didn’t remember him. Crowley looked into the face that he had known for six thousand years and was met with a stranger. Not just a stranger though, someone who viewed Crowley as an enemy, as a foe to be vanquished. Not even on the garden wall had Aziraphale looked at him like that, with such hatred and anger. Crowley couldn’t think of a time when Aziraphale had looked at _anything_ like that. 

He had no clues as to what had happened, just a blurry spot in his memory, tampered by a familiar hand. Whatever happened, Aziraphale had done something to make Crowley forget it. Probably to keep him from following Aziraphale. To keep Crowley safe. That _bastard._

He tried praying. Asking for an answer from the only one who would have them. Begged that She would listen to him, just this one time. Prayed in every language that had ever been spoken. Prayed until his voice was hoarse. Burned his knees, kneeling at a pew for a solid week, one Sunday to the next, with the hopes it might give him better reception. 

No answer. 

He hadn’t really expected one.

He eyed the basin of holy water on his way out. Thought of just sticking a finger in and being done with it, but there was a voice that lived in his head, Aziraphale’s voice that kept repeating _Don’t go unscrewing the cap_. Over and over. An echo of Aziraphale that only remained in his head. Not wanting to upset even the memory of his angel, Crowley went back to the flat and stayed there, holding an empty thermos and wishing it were full. 

* * *

The morning was slipping into the afternoon and Crowley didn’t care. Didn’t matter what day or month or year it was, let alone the time. He stood at his window and wondered if it would be worth paying the shop a visit, just to catch a glimpse of that blond mop of hair. 

There was a familiar ringing sound and Crowley spun around. Where moments ago there had been nothing, now stood Aziraphale. 

Hope flared for the first time in ages, but it was snuffed out when Crowley saw the rigid posture Aziraphale held himself in arms held behind his back, face set in stone.

They both stood there. At a standstill. Crowley wanted to reach out, for the last few months to have all been a nightmare. Needed those eyes to be kind again. To shine with love and kindness instead of flat and angry. 

Crowley took a step forward, always being pulled into that orbit, a tug on a string that he still felt. “Angel I-”

“Don’t.” His voice was sharp and icy. So unlike the angel that Crowley knew. “Don’t speak to me as if you know me. You’re a demon. A demon who has obviously played some trick on my mind.” 

“Nothing. I haven’t done anything.”

“I see you when I close my eyes, images of you plague my waking thoughts. Things that didn’t happen. I will not stand for it. Undo what you have done to me or else I will be left with no choice but to strike you down.”

His voice was stern but Crowley saw the facade starting to crumble. He looked desperate and disoriented. His eyes shifted around the flat, taking in the details. They lingered on the albatross statue from the church all those years ago. It was recognition, recognition that Crowley saw in those eyes. The angel he knew must still be in there. Buried, not destroyed. A spark of hope lit and Crowley grasped it, took it in his hands to shelter it, help it grow. He came closer. “I’m your friend, Aziraphale. I have been for six thousand years.” Another step. “You have to remember. You can feel it, I know you do. The church, the books-” He was close now, close enough to reach up, to hold out his hand. 

“Enough with your lies!” Aziraphale’s voice filled the room, made everything in it feel small. He pushed Crowley away, hands burning with divine power. Aziraphale outstretched his wings and there was a blinding radiant light. 

In all their years together, Crowley had never seen the true extent of Aziraphale divine fury, had seen it peak out a few times, enough to know that it wasn’t a good idea to be on his bad side. As soft and kind-hearted as Aziraphale appeared, each thread of his celestial soul was built for fighting, for thwarting the evils of hell. 

“Please, Aziraphale, you have to remember. It’s me your- your wily serpent.”

For a moment Aziraphale seemed to falter. His eyes grew wide, fury giving way to fear, to confusion. His wings dropped a fraction of an inch, just a barely perceptible hesitation. 

Suddenly Aziraphale cried out as if he was in pain, clutching his head with both hands. “No. I- I don’t know who you are.” The pain seized him again and he bent over, tears gathering in his eyes. “You’re doing this to confuse me!”

With the force of a hurricane, Aziraphale lunged. Crowley canted to the side, just missing the swing of Aziraphale’s fist. The angel screamed out in frustration, throwing another punch. This one hit its mark, getting Crowley right in the cheek. He stumbled back from the impact. 

Aziraphale didn’t relent: he leapt forward landing punch after punch, giving no room for Crowley to regain his footing. With each hit Crowley felt a bloom of pain, a radiating hurt that sparked through him. Holy power cracking through him like lightning. 

He wouldn’t fight back, couldn’t raise a hand toward Aziraphale. Even if the angel he knew really was gone, he’d rather be wiped off the face of the earth than bruise the skin he had once worshiped. 

Aziraphale landed a hit directly to Crowley’s chest and it sent him sprawling, landing flat on his back. His gasp of breath hurt, broken rib protesting as he tried to expand his lungs. He shut his eyes, tried to block out the pain.

When he opened his eyes Aziraphale was standing over him, Crowley watched as he brought up his hand and readied a strike that shone with divine light. At the last moment Crowley pulled out his own wings, blocking the hit the best he could. It stung. He felt it singe his feathers. 

The defensive position only made Aziraphale more furious, like bellows to a fire. He punctuated each word with another blow to Crowley’s wings, each one burning at the edges of his feathers. “Why- won’t- you- fight- back!” He stopped. Panting and wild-eyed. 

The room became still, the only sound their harsh breathing. With a groan, Crowley pulled himself back to his feet and lowered his wings. “I could never hurt you, Aziraphale. I love you.”

With a frustrated scream Aziraphale leapt forward. With both his hands he grabbed Crowley’s wing. Hands that had once been so gentle now ruthless. His grip tightened. There was a sickening pop followed by a crack. 

Time slowed to allow Crowley a moment before he registered what had happened. Then, like a wave crashing on an unexpecting shore, it hit him, stopped him so fully that it took him a few seconds to find the breath to cry out. Needles, thousands of needles stabbing into his wing, bending in a place where it shouldn’t. He felt bones grind together and he felt himself edge toward unconsciousness. 

Aziraphale dropped the wing and it fell to the ground limply, dead weight bringing Crowley to his knees. 

The world around him was hazy, blurred at the edges like a poorly preserved hymn. He focused on his breath, in and out. The taste of iron was heavy on his tongue. It hurt to be on his knees, still raw from the church floor. It made him think of praying again. One last chance to call out to a severed line. Maybe this time She would listen? Bring his angel back to him. He had never done anything that would warrant an answered prayer. Had only ever done things that further damned his soul and he wasn’t going to start now, bleeding out on his knees, facing his destruction. 

_Fuck praying._ He thought as he spit out a mouth full of blood onto the cement floor.

There was the sound of heavy footsteps and Crowley looked up and met the eyes of a stranger. Maybe Aziraphale really was gone. Punished for going against Heaven in the worst way, not with destruction but with forced compliance. This is what they have always wanted from him, wasn’t it? A way to control him, mold him into exactly what they wanted. 

Crowley didn’t even flinch as Aziraphale grabbed him by the shoulder and threw him back to the ground. He kicked him in the stomach and Crowley took it with a grunt. He stayed prone on the floor.

Aziraphale’s fury only seemed to grow. “Fight back, you coward. Fight BACK!” Another kick. One that drew a low whine from Crowley. 

With one hand, Aziraphale lifted him up by the lapels of his jacket. “I will destroy you and you won’t even raise a hand to me. Why?” With his free hand Aziraphale conjured a pitcher, it was made of black porcelain, concealing its contents but Crowley could smell holy water when it was this close. Felt his nose sting like it was fresh horseradish. 

Aziraphale paused there for a moment, waiting for an answer. Something in his eyes screamed fear but his body was tense and posed to kill, to destroy. There seemed to be some unseen force that refused to let him move. Crowley couldn’t fight it anymore, was broken and tired. He had tried to reach out and failed. 

If Aziraphale really was gone, there wasn’t much of a point sticking around for the rest of eternity. Aziraphale had been his eternity, and if that was over, so was he. 

The angel’s hand was shaking but by some miracle not enough to spill a drop. Crowley looked up at him, one eye swollen shut and blood oozing down from his temple. There was an odd sense of peace, resigned to his fate. He’d rather go this way than be subject to eternity by himself, any moment longer without his angel. 

“It’s alright. I’ll be fine.” An easy lie to tell. He raised a hand to wipe away tears falling down Aziraphale’s cheek. Aziraphale seemed startled, like he had just noticed that he was crying. 

“I-” The tears came out faster and Crowley shushed him, continuing to hold his face in his hands.

“I love you. Always have. Always will. Just remember that.” 

Another tear ran down Aziraphale’s cheek and his hand suddenly seized, tightening around the handle. With a cry of pain he turned the pitcher over. 

But it was empty. 

No water spilled from the pitcher. Not a drop, holy or otherwise. 

A gasp tore its way out of Aziraphale’s throat as he let the pitcher fall to the ground and it shattered on impact. 

* * *

Aziraphale remembered.

It didn’t come back slowly, bit by bit and piece by piece. It came back all at once. A dam bursting and flooding the valley below. It was incapacitating, blinding out all other sensations. _Gabriel, the Lethe, Crowley, Crowley, Crowley._

He looked down and there he was. His friend. His love. His Crowley. 

There was another name. A name that had been forgotten for much longer. A name that Aziraphale hadn’t spoken since before Creation. He remembered it all. He whispered the name, like a secret. Like a thing that the rest of the world wasn’t allowed to know, only for Crowley to hear. 

Crowley’s eyes widened. He looked into Aziraphale’s eyes and he saw the same understanding, the same memories playing in his mind. The demon drew in a breath and recognition flashed across his face _._

 _“ _A_ ziraphale, _” Crowley exhaled the name like a prayer.

“Oh my _dear._ ”Aziraphale gathered him up in his arms and shifted until Crowley was securely in his lap, being careful not to jostle the broken wing. The wing he broke. Aziraphale felt it as if it were his own pain. Crowley hushed him, smiling through a grimace. 

“It’s alright. Had worse.”

“I remember, I remember everything. I’m so sorry. Gabriel, he-”

“It’s okay. I have you back now. _I remember_. Before. I-” 

Aziraphale brought their lips together, kissing the words out of Crowley’s mouth. It was familiar. Familiar to feel Crowley’s lips against his own, to hold his face in his hands. Crowley kissed him back, surging up to meet him but abruptly hissed in pain. Breaking away, he clutched at his stomach with a wince. 

Ignoring the tremor in his hands, Aziraphale ran his hands over Crowley, frantically cataloging each injury. Looking at each bruise that he could see on Crowley’s exposed skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, over and over again until he felt himself shaking apart.

“Wasn’t your fault. Angel, I _missed you._ ” Crowley pushed himself up again, ignoring the pain he was in, and kissed Aziraphale with all that he was. Aziraphale wrapped an arm around his back to support him, to hold him as close as he dared. He held him and kissed him until his hands became steady again. 

“As nice as this is…” Crowley trailed off, lips still pressed the side of Aziraphale’s mouth.

“Oh!” Aziraphale pulled away, a bit too quick judging by the wince on Crowley’s face. “Of course! You’re hurt.” He looked over Crowley, calculating, brows furrowed in concentration. “I’m afraid dear, that this might sting a bit.” Without further warning Aziraphale waved a hand over the broken line of Crowley’s wings. It cracked and straightened, mending back into place. Crowley groaned and pushed his head into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck but after a moment, the tension started to bleed from his body. 

“Better?”

Crowley stretched his wings out and only winced slightly. “Better.” 

“Do you think you can stand? I want to go over the rest of you but this isn’t the best position.”

Crowley nodded, and with Aziraphale’s help, managed to stand. Even with Crowley’s wing mended he was clearly still in a lot of pain. They slowly made their way to Crowley’s bedroom where Crowley sat down on the edge of the bed with a great huff. With a thought, Aziraphale slipped his own wings out of reality to give himself more room. After taking off his coat and rolling up his sleeves, he sat down next to Crowley and stretched the battered wing across his lap. 

Methodically, feather by feather, he fixed the damage he had done. Carding his fingers across every inch of wing, brushing away any burns. Every feather was put back in place, laying flat and sleek. He continued long past the point of necessity, reveling in the intimacy of the act and feeling Crowley relax by degrees.

After each feather passed Aziraphale’s inspection tenfold, he stroked down the length of the wing. “I think it’s safe to put them away now.” 

All Crowley could do was make a vaguely agreeable sound, still a bit dazed from the ministrations. A minute passed and he still didn’t move. Aziraphale tutted and patted the wing in his lap, shaking Crowley out of his stupor. With a sigh and a roll of his shoulders his wings vanished from sight.

Without the wings in the way, Crowley leaned most of his weight against Aziraphale, letting the angel wrap his arms around him. His breathing evened out, becoming deeper and slower but there was still a pained rasp to it. 

“Don’t sleep now, love. I still need to go over the rest of you.” 

“‘S fine,” the demon grumbled. “Do it later.” He pushed his head more firmly into Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“I won’t have you in any sort of pain for a moment longer.”

Crowley protested half-heartedly for good measure as Aziraphale pulled away and started tugging at the bottom of his shirt. With only a bit of a miracle he managed to pull it off without incident. 

His heart ached at the sight of Crowley’s body. All across his chest welts were blooming on his skin. Aziraphale rubbed his thumb over a particularly large one just above Crowley’s collar bone, the angry red color faded, leaving only perfect unmarked skin. His hands slipped lower, cradling Crowley’s side. His ribs knit back together and Crowley took a deep, unrestricted breath and let out a pleased groan when he was met with no pain. 

Seeking more similar sounds, Aziraphale brought his hand up and cradled Crowley’s cheek in his hand, thumb rubbing away his swollen eye, the cut at his temple. Crowley hummed, blinking slowly like a cat in a particularly nice sun spot. Aziraphale smiled fondly and ran his hands over every inch of Crowley’s chest, wrapped an arm around him and slid it down his back,, soothing his pain, recommitting to memory every curve and line. 

Lips soon replaced hands, kissing away each bruise. Crowley sighed beneath him, wrapping an arm around Aziraphale’s head as he worked down his sternum, each kiss a relief. 

Aziraphale continued long after each bruise was gone. Worked each spot several times over until Crowley’s sighs became shallow gasps that caught in his throat. Until every ache melted to pleasure.

It felt good to feel Crowley under his hands again, his touches became bolder, more lustful. Whispers of touch becoming more confidently spoken. 

His lips made their way to Crowley’s neck. “Are you hurt anywhere else, love?”

“My- ah- my knees.” Crowley threw his head back as Aziraphale sucked a bruise of a kiss into the skin under his jaw, only to soothe it away with his tongue moments later. 

“Your knees?” His hands were already undoing the clasps on Crowley’s trousers. 

“Yeah.” Crowley panted. “Wasted some time praying while you were gone.”

“Let me make it better.” Aziraphale pushed at the waist band and Crowley lifted himself up until he worked them down past his hips, past his knees, until they pooled at the floor. The air blew across the broken blisters on his knees and Crowley drew in a hiss. They were still raw, like a child’s after falling off a bike. 

In the next moment, Aziraphale slid off the bed to the ground, his own knees hitting the ground with a soft sound. He shifted until he was in front of Crowley, fitting in the space of his parted legs. Above him Crowley’s breath hitched, and he held it, waiting for the next touch.

With the lightest of touches, Aziraphale trailed his hands down Crowley’s thighs and over his knees. The skin healed under the touch, and Crowley sighed and his legs parted further. 

Here. On knees in front of his love, Aziraphale sat back and removed Crowley’s shoes and socks, allowing him to pull the trousers the rest of the way off. One by one he took Crowley’s feet into his hands and rubbed away the blisters there. Working his thumb in the arch until Crowley groaned. The sound sent a shock down Aziraphale’s spine. He bent his head and kissed the inside of Crowley’s thigh, just above his knee. Another sound from Crowley, a high breath, the fragment of a word stuck in his mouth. With each kiss pulling another note of pleasure from Crowley, Aziraphale worked his way up one thigh and down the other, hands still touching, roaming, kneading into the sinewy muscles beneath them.

Crowley bucked up, whining as Aziraphale carefully avoided where he wanted those hands, those lips, the most.

“Aziraphale. I need- I need-”

“I know.” The angel moved up, standing until he was crouched over Crowley. He pressed a kiss to his neck and let his lips linger for a moment. “I know,” he repeated into his ear. 

Crowley turned towards him until their lips met, hands coming up to hold his face. Aziraphale responded in kind, wrapping one arm behind Crowley’s shoulder, lowering him to the bed, slowly, as if he were made of glass. A delicate thing he was afraid of breaking. Crowley pulled him down with him, decidedly _not_ made of glass or any other fragile thing. Lips incessant. Hands touching every inch of skin within reach. Feeling. Consuming what had been lost to him. 

Each touch was a memory, a touchstone that reminded them of who they were, who they were together. Crowley broke the kiss only to push himself to the middle of the bed, Aziraphale took advantage of the position change and kissed down Crowley’s chest and he moved up. 

It was nice, but obviously not what Crowley wanted. His hands scrambled at Aziraphale’s shoulders, incessantly pulling at his shirt, both to bring him closer but also to remove the offending piece of clothing. He succeeded on both fronts, pulling Aziraphale’s shirt, waistcoat and all, off of him and bringing their mouths together in an unrelenting kiss- a homecoming. 

There was more tugging at clothes, a pushing away of anything that separated them until all that was left was skin. The slide of flesh against flesh. Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, holding them together. Aziraphale worked a hand between them, folding his hand around the both of them. The heat was familiar in his hand, he stroked and they moaned in harmony, a song that only the two of them could sing. 

Aziraphale remembered this. Remembered where to touch, how to touch, Crowley’s body a star chart he had memorized in the few months they had been together, always a quick study. His skin a vellum he had written his life story on. There were new things too, new discoveries in ways to make Crowley sigh and stretch with pleasure.

They fell into a rhythm, a push and pull like the tide. The moon and the ocean working in tandem to bring the waves to the shore. It felt new and yet familiar. Like the first time and the thousandth time in one oscillating moment.

They panted into each others mouths, drawing in and out from one another. Underneath him, Crowley was shaking, hips rolling up to meet him, on the precipice of coming undone. So was he. They were pressed together but it wasn’t enough. Aziraphale needed to be inside him, needed for him to be inside Aziraphale. 

His grip tightened and he pushed his body closer, felt his skin shudder. “Come into me. Let me come into you.”

It was an undoing. Crowley keened, high and desperate, nails digging into the skin at his back. “Yes. Ah-” he blabbered incoherently, words not sufficing for his thoughts, for his desperation. “Aziraphale please. Come into me.”

He brought their mouths together, both panting too much for it to be a proper kiss. He tensed and pulled himself into Crowley, shuddering as he felt his soul take root in Crowley’s chest, Crowley’s own soul fitting the space it left behind. Like osmosis, they bled together until each had the other’s half. 

It was like coming home, a home that had been forgotten six thousand years ago. Their souls wove and threaded together, a book made of their essences, binded by the thread wrapped around each of their hearts. Any pleasure that Crowley felt, Aziraphale felt it reflected back into himself. They were each other's mirrors, not two separate beings but one. It became too much. Soul to soul. A blinding heat that blazed past reality. 

After their own eternity, the world around them came back. Aziraphale pulled away and retreated back into himself, his soul tender from being shared for so long. 

“I don’t even know if I’m back in the right body.”

Huffing out a laugh, Aziraphale turned his head and opened his eyes. He was looking at Crowley, red hair a mess and yellow eyes blinking dazedly back at him. 

“Seems like it to me.”

Crowley smiled and rolled until he was securely in Aziraphale’s arms, head resting on his chest.

They settled. Lost in silent thought. Images of Before flashed through Aziraphale’s mind, when they had done this for the first time. It was something that they would have to talk about. What it meant in the grand scheme of things. If it would change their fundamental understanding of each other. 

Aziraphale had known Crowley for six thousand years. What he had thought to be most of his time in existence. Suddenly, there was a piece that contradicted that. Memories at war. Yellow eyes that had once been golden. Crowley wasn’t just the Serpent of Eden, he was the angel that Aziraphale knew in Heaven. Had loved. Had been willing to stand up to God for, if given the chance. Could those two images live in his mind at once? He had never had the opportunity to feel anger or sorrow for what had happened. How Crowley betrayed him. Went behind his back and made decisions for him, ripped them apart. Kept him safe without taking into consideration what Aziraphale wanted. Now that Aziraphale remembered, would be be able to forgive that version of Crowley?

Not to mention there was still the issue of Gabriel to deal with. _Bet he’s gonna be pissed when he finds out about this. The prick._

Crowley snuffled closer, pulling Aziraphale from his thoughts. There would be time to dwell on the past and fret about the future. Later. For this moment that was happening now, it was best to take it in while it was happening. Before it became a memory. 

Silence stretched on, muted and comfortable. Wrapped in a blanket of each other.

“I really thought I lost you.” Crowley whispered into Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“If there’s one thing it’s that no matter how lost, we can always _find_ each other. We’re-” he trailed off, pursing his lips as if searching for a word as Crowley rolled his eyes with fondness. 

“Were you going to say ineffable?”

Aziraphale kissed him and that was answer enough. 


End file.
